A Comedy of Errors
by Shadoobie
Summary: **Universe Altered** Damon Hokum was not defeated in Tyr Og Nor. That is now ten years in the past, and our heroes mean to correct their mistakes.
1. Chapter 1

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part One**

The ship hasn't changed, not after even this long. The Sea Hawk's sails are whole, the hull flawless, and it still runs the boughs of the Deep Forest Sea as if it is just another of the countless billions of leaves churning beneath it. All that has changed is the standard at the top of the tallest mast; a banner of purple and gold, of Metaboline. Silk and satin shudder in the first rays of dawn.

Choire isn't awake at this hour, which is fine enough. She can move across the weathered planks undisturbed though she keeps a hood up just to be safe. Walking along she's gently amazed that all the buildings are still here, look to still be open for business. The Golden Lion, The Cracked Skull...all still here. In spite of everything. Then again, the scuttlebutt was that Dantyr was almost untouched by this enormous mess she had made.

She spots the all too familiar ship as she nears the harbor, first catching the standard before making out its silhouette. Her steps quicken, a cool forest sea breeze brushing her face. Another one, harder this time, forced the hood back to let the sun catch in her sable hair just as her foot touched the end of the ship's gangplank. Lifting an uncertain gaze she sees someone walking along the side, she can feel eyes on her now. It takes a moment for her to search her memory until she find's the sailor's face.

"Mr. Riley?" she calls out.

"Aye, and who's asking?" comes a gruff answer.

"Windleaf." she can almost see the shift in his features, one eyebrow cocking sharply upwards.

"That so? Last I heard she died."

She almost grins. "Afraid not."

"So it seems." he squints. "Is the captain expecting you?"

 _He should be..._ "He is."

"We'll see about that then, won't we?"

Her heart starts hammering in her chest, her face heating as she watches him turn, gesturing to someone she couldn't see. Her hands clench slowly into fists, sweat forming on her palms as she waits. Though the anxiety doesn't ease when Mr. Riley gives her permission to come aboard. She feels her knees threatening to give with a telling shake as she ascends the gangplank, quietly thanking Riley as she passes him. He watches her briefly before she disappears into the darkness of the captain's cabin, looking equally surprised and dismayed at the sight of her.

The sunlight comes through a large window at the rear of the room, overlooking the forest sea, casting a patchwork quilt of light and the shadow of a hammock across the worn wooden floor of the cabin. At first all Windleaf can look at is the captain's desk, only her peripheral registering the man sitting behind it and looking through the latticework of glass panes. The shaking in her knees has gotten a little worse and she can't seem to straighten her gentle slouch. Then he moves, shifting in his chair, and her eyes snap to the center of his back.

"I honestly didn't think you'd come." there was a sigh in the admission, somewhere. He stands up with a stretch, one arm out and the other bending tight behind his head. Then he turns, but only half way. His dark eyes settle on her. "How safe is it to talk?"

"Are there any mirrors on board?"

"Hah, with this ugly bunch, they'd be broken anyway." he tries at a laugh, though there's no happiness in his face. "But no. In all seriousness."

"Then we should be fine. It's," she swallows, forcing herself to look at the center of his chest and not his face, "it's good to see you again."

Stinger doesn't know what to make of her. Almost nothing is the same. Her body language, her clothes -so unnatural compared to when he last saw her-...it all changed. There was no pride and certainty in the way she carried herself, and her attire; crimson satin dress with gold and silver adornments, all of her tribal attire gone, and what looked to be a mantle of raven feathers across her shoulders. Her once flawless pitch hair had a staggering white streak like he couldn't believe. Yet her face...it was like she hadn't aged a day.

"Seems like ten years has been good to you." he nods towards her as he steps around the desk. Though he immediately regrets the comment when he catches her noticeable cringe. "Sorry...I don't mean to...you want a seat?"

"Please." anything to get her off her shaking legs.

Stinger pulls the chair around, passing it to her with a dip of his chin and making out the almost silent "thank you" she offers. He perches on the edge of his desk and crosses his arms, though one hand twines in the bristle of his beard. He bites his tongue at her visible discomfort. She doesn't want to be here, but she knows she _has_ to. And it isn't even about the risk - she didn't care a damn bit about that- it was the guilt she is being forced to swallow.

"W-where's Harv? Is he..."

"Running an errand for me. Should be back soon. Do you want to wait for him?"

"If it's all right,"

"Sure." he shifts again, sitting on the desk instead of leaning, fingers folding together as he leans on his knees. The cabin goes quiet, though the air is far from still. Stinger feels the buzz of her anxiety like static, the hair on his body bristling. He just watches her for a moment, she still refusing to meet his eyes, and he just _knows_ all those muscles are _bunching_. Like a spring being wound tighter and tighter, her shoulders start to reach for her ears as her hands hook onto the edges of the chair. Like she's about to pop.

Then, finally, "I ruined everything."

His blond brows peak. "Damn. I didn't even have to say please." a smirk kinks his mouth on one side. "Guess being Archmage isn't all it's cracked up to be after all." And again he regrets his words as she flinches, but a little less this time. She opened the can of worms, now she's going to deal with it.

Windleaf puts her hands to her face. "For Keerg's sake..." the oath is somewhere between a sob and a frustrated heave of words. "You must hate me."

"The thought's certainly crossed my mind, I'll admit," which is only half a lie, "if anything I'm just confused. If you could tell me why..."

Her back bends, her covered face dipping that much closer to her lap. Like she's about to fold right in half. Then she suddenly straightens, looking entirely composed as she laughs a little. "Every reason I've considered has always sounded like an excuse."

"Then give me an excuse."

Finally she can look at him, _finally_ she can stomach the weight of his judgment now that she has been given leave to explain that horrible _fuck-up_ of hers. Her eyes burn a little but she chokes it back. She'd cried enough over all of this, and to do it in front of him would just be...

"I thought I knew better. Simple as that." Windleaf starts. "Somehow I got it into my head that there was better way."

A quiet anger settles into his eyes, the way his face tightens around them. " _How_ could there have been a better way than splitting that bastard's head wide open?"

Windleaf recoils slowly, back tightening against the chair making it creak. "I..."

"We were _this. Close._ " He raises one hand in a sharp twist, his thumb and forefinger almost coming together in front of him. " _This. Close_ to ending this whole damn thing,"

"I know." her eyes drift away again. "I know."

"And then you _turned_ on us." and the words come seeping out with a defeated shrug. "I...I'm trying to understand you, but I just...ten years and I still don't."

"I was weak...ignorant. I was convinced we were immune, that we couldn't be touched. But I was... _so wrong._ "

"What do you mean?"

"The Darg. I thought it couldn't get to us...we were too good, you know?" a brief glance at him. "But it wasn't true. And I should have known."

Stinger's eyes widen and he doesn't say a word.

"It was my ego. That's how it got in. Just like Hokum, it played me." her fingers curl into fabric across her thighs, hard. "For one second I believed I had all the answers...and one second was just enough time for me to destroy everything we all fought so hard for."

Stinger stares at the floor, brow furrowed now. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath.

"Some part of me thought I would be more satisfied...if I beat Hokum at his own game. As ridiculous as that sounds. Just...had to prove I was _smarter_ than him. Instead I,"

"You just became part of his game." That was the truth of the matter. No ifs, ands, or buts. All the rumors were true, Windleaf had stabbed them in the back and become Damon Hokum's Queen of Crows. As some called her on Khelestra anyway.

There would be no stopping Hokum after that. They failed. After all of the fighting and bloody misery the lot of them had plowed through to get so far, it was for nothing. From there the madness spread to all corners of Arkos and Wyldern, the Etherwell was reopened and the Darg came and went as it pleased. The faces of both worlds were changed forever.

And all because of her.

"I think about it -even now- and it doesn't make any real sense." Windleaf shakes her head. "I _shouldn't_ have believed it could work. Not by a long shot."

"Well...that's how the Darg operates, isn't it? Make a shit sandwich look just good enough to buy?"

Her brow quirks, the expression taking her a little by surprise. "I...I suppose so."

"But, like I said, it seems like time has been a bit kinder to _you_."

Another flinch and she looks at him again, just now noticing the mark across his left eyebrow. That, and the hard lines around his eyes, like he is twice his actual age. He's only... maybe thirty-something.

"Hokum cast a spell...guess he's still holding out hope I'll agree to be one of his wives." she almost laughs at the idea, probably would have if it wasn't true. "But...please don't take this as evidence that it hasn't been difficult for me."

"Not at all. It's in your eyes." He could always see that, since they met he could see it. "So you really _are_ his yes-man now..."

"More or less." her posture deflates. "He gave me what was left of Mannheim's powers...don't ask me how." And the request wasn't out of not knowing. Windleaf knew, she just didn't want to say. Hokum had tricked her into consuming human blood. She hasn't been able to even look at a bottle of wine the same way since.

"I guess that's where you get your name then?" Stinger nods, hiding a shiver at the mention of the man's name. "Then he sent you to the Magic Academy?"

She nods in turn, pushing fingers through her hair which isn't in its usual braid, but loose. "You know the rest."

"I know enough." He knows more than enough. He knows all the towns that have been decimated by the second wind of Hokum's takeover. He knows Karillon has been under siege off and on for the last decade but still holds on by a thread. And he knows that he's been working his ass off trying to save what he can, his efforts allowing Dantyr to go nearly untouched. Nearly.

Quiet settles in again, longer this time though just as heavy.

She swallows hard enough to hear and then clears her throat. "What about the others? I haven't heard anything...which is actually saying something."

Part of him was hesitant, a knee-jerk paranoia of someone or something possibly listening. "Harv stayed with me...we were separated from the others after escaping Tyr Og Nor. I mean...there have been rumors...good and bad. I've heard Xero and Clemett made it back to Eyre, but I also heard the whole city crashed and burned somewhere in Siltheria." he takes a breath and cocks his head to the side, "no telling what's true these days, but on the upside, at least people are still gossiping."

"And Jirina?"

"Not a damn whisper." His brow furrows again as he straightens to his feet. Fists at his sides he stalks back behind the desk, facing the window. Windleaf couldn't see it, but he is wearing a scowl for the ages. He crosses his arms so tight it almost hurts, tight like the muscles in his jaw.

They wouldn't have been able to get out of the Orgish shit hole without Jirina staying behind and buying them time. _Foolish broad_ rings between his ears as he shakes his head. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. And as much as a part of him _wants_ to hope she's out there somewhere -anywhere- he _knows_ she'll never be so stubborn as to keep death from taking her. Kicking and screaming if necessary.

"Well...if it means anything...I'm glad you're okay."

"If you want to call it that, sure." He wants to reciprocate the thought, but he can't. His nerves are still too tight. Tight enough to make him jump when the clasp of the cabin door comes up with an iron _ka-chunk_ and the door creaks on its hinges. His head jerks, his shoulders turn halfway until he can see the shiny chrome body that accompanies the telling, rhythmic steps and whirring of a robot in motion. Windleaf turns as well, though not as quickly. She wants to smile at the sight of the automaton but stifles the idea, her expression unreadable as she waits for his reaction. If there is to be any.

Round red lights move behind a black glass visor, Harv-5's eyes settling on her wordlessly. He appears wholly unchanged save for a few dents and scrapes. His straw hat is in its place and his scythe rests on his back, courtesy of some sort of magnet.

Something in him clicks. Literally. "Ah. You came after all." he says, flat inflection.

She shrinks a little, feeling the weight of his artificial gaze. "Harv." Windleaf offers with a nod but receives no response. She watches the red lights in his face shift away from her.

"How did it go?" Stinger tips his chin.

"There has been...good fortune, for once. Help is here."

"No kidding?" Stinger's face actually lights up, surprise genuine with hints of relief. "Is it an army? Please tell me it's an army,"

"Not quite. But it is the best one can hope for. At least I would imagine so...if imagination was part of my programming."

Stinger's face twists, now suddenly less impressed. His brow is flat over his eyes and a corner of his mouth has sunk nearly to his jaw. Arms crossing again he snorts "Well that makes me feel just dandy."

"I thought it would." sounds like someone speaking through a metal bucket with no bottom. He finally moves from the doorway -clink-clunk-clunk- to the far side of Windleaf to make space for someone who has been waiting just behind him. Heavy though nonmetallic footsteps pull another shape into the cabin, a stump and stout figure covered from head to toe in gear and pouches to keep things in. Stinger's face changes almost immediately.

"You slick son of a bitch."

"Eh?" The amber lenses of goggles flicker as they move towards him, head turning under a heavy welding mantle. "Slick nothin'. Your stupid ass is still kickin' around, so you're the slick one from where I'm standin'. I gotta admit I almost didn't believe that the harvester showed up when we docked here, I'd even made bets with some of the guys about whether or not you folks were still alive."

"Hope you didn't lose too much on me." a quiet chuckle. "Thanks for coming, Clemett."

"How could I say no? After all I-," he pauses suddenly, mid stride as he takes note of the other human in the room. Then he continues, looking away from her. "I couldn't ignore what might be our only chance to fix this. Although...do we even have clue one?"

"That's what this is about." Stinger nods. "Is it just you?"

"Thankfully we're going to be luckier than that." He half twists and gestures with his hand, "Come on in folks."

A great swell of hope pushes the fear from Stinger's back as he watches two more bodies come through the door, both having to duck to avoid the insufficient height of the opening. A stately postured, white haired gentleman with a perfectly manicured goatee comes into the light first, bringing out the vibrant dark blue of his long coat and the almost absurd pink trim of it. And just behind him was a near seven foot tall shadow, blanched gray skin standing out against steely blackness.

"Keerg's beard," the captain just shakes his head, amazed. "We're all here."

"The feeling's mutual. Well met, friends." Xero smiles, the hair around his mouth moving to match the expression.

"For a while I thought we'd lost you, Von Moon. You're not an easy guy to find."

"Assuming I wished to be found, that is, captain." the Mage Warrior winks. "But it was all for good reason, rest assured."

"I don't doubt that." Stinger nods. "You too, Jirina, glad you could make it. Good to see you."

Not a word from the she-Org, she only crosses her arms with a hard breath out of her nose.

"It's been a... _long_ journey for us," Xero says with a weary breath, almost in apology, "if we could just get to business..."

"Of course. Um, I'd offer you all a seat, but, well,"

"It's all well and good, you've got a floor and that's fine enough." Clemett waves a dismissive hand and slumps against a wall, M.A.B.L.E tucked under one arm. The others seem content to stand.

All the while Windleaf is stock still, mortified at the sensation of eyes boring into the back of her head. She can sense the magic in the room, a dead heat under her skin, an enormous combined presence compared to her own. She felt it the minute the others set foot on the ship but hadn't said anything on the off chance it was just her nerves. Part of her wishes it had been.

"So where do we stand?" Stinger begins.

"We still have all of the components for the Spell of Banishment," Xero answers, his hands folded behind his back, "I won't say where, only that they are readily accessible."

Stinger nods. "Here's a better one for you; how do we even get that close now? I haven't been down there, but I'm willing to bet my hide that Hokum has ten times as many defenses between us and him than before."

"You'd be right, at least going by what the head told me."

"I'm quite much more than just a head, Sir Clemett." Xero corrects gently.

"Force of habit." the Gadgeteer shrugs it off, tipping his head to the side. "But according to him Hokum has shit we've never even _heard_ of, much less even thought possible."

"Like what?"

"The walls of his palatial fortress are -for lack of a better term- _alive_. I don't know how that fiend managed it, but the damn battlements are possessed. Heads and limb and everything. Nasty contraptions." the Mage Warrior's expression darkens as he speaks, like he's recalling the details from a personal memory.

Windleaf cringes. She knows what he's going on about, having helped Hokum make the damnable things. He had called them his watchdogs, she thought of them as the second biggest mistake of her life.

"Most of Wyldern's gone to pot," Clemett continues, "hardly a soul down there that isn't working for Hokum or a Dargling outright."

"What about the Toparri?" Stinger lifts one eyebrow.

"I can only imagine they're still holed up in that forest of theirs. The Sentinel hasn't lost his shit yet -which is weird if you ask me- but that could mean anything. Maybe they think there's still a chance to get rid of this."

"One can hope."

"Otherwise...well, it's like I said; not much else there except problems. If we're going to get close to that old toad bastard, we'll have to be quick."

"And quiet." Xero adds.

"But there isn't a chance on Keerg's backside that we'll be able to take the same route we did before. Is he still in Tyr Og Nor as before?"

"To my knowledge," Xero nods with mild hesitation, "but I'd imagine he doesn't stay in one place too long in order to avoid certain...inconveniences such as ourselves." then he pauses, perhaps thinking. "Mayhaps you could offer us some insight, Miss Windleaf?"

She shudders almost hard enough for them to see. That crawling skin feeling amplifies as she swallows.

"Xero's right," she forces out, "he won't stay in one place very long. Sometimes he even comes to the Academy. I have no way of knowing when he comes and goes, but...if I were to make an educated guess, he spends most of his time in his palace. He probably has a hundred hiding places just in there, and he's learned how to create magic traps that you can't even sense until...let's just say there are some places even a fly can't get through." For a split second she feels as though she just can't breathe enough. No amount of oxygen could resolve this sensation of suffocating. She's doing it again. Stabbing someone in the back. "But I wrote most of them...I could probably undo them."

"You're saying you would be willing to accompany us if we were to try again?" Xero's snowy brows raise.

"Y-yeah, I am." she can feel her nails biting into her palms. "I made this mess...I need to do what I can to clean it up."

"Is that wise?" All heads turn when Jirina finally speaks. The Org-Ta warrior takes one large step forward into the light as she tosses back a soot colored hood with a hard tip of her chin. Stinger's gaze fixes on her face, on the marks that hadn't been there before. Pale stripes that had once been wounds peek out from beneath the metal visor. And her hands, he has to blink several times before he realizes what he sees; what he initially thinks are rust colored stone bracers are actually the limbs they resemble. He notices the fine seams of creases between the stone and the thickest part of her forearm. Then he recalls her footsteps, looking down to find a similar circumstance just below the knee.

"She could just as easily be tricking us. _Again_."

The accusation is more than fair, which is why Windleaf doesn't speak out against it. She has no right to. She can hardly stand to acknowledge the vague shape of her in her peripheral, and while she hears Jirina loud and clear, she can also hear the echo of what the Org is surely _thinking_ bouncing between her ears.

 _Look at me, you conniving sow. Look at me. At least have the guts to do that much._

But she simply can't. Not now when she feels the hot coals of her eyes boring through the side of her head. In a way the rest of them feel it too, but can only watch. Like waiting for a fuse to burn down and the bomb to go off.

"Consider it a gesture of good faith, big gal." Clemett breaks the quiet.

"There _is no_ such thing." comes her biting response. "We don't need her."

"I disagree." Stinger shakes his head. "We need every pair of hands we can get and she's offering."

"Offering to lead us to the damn _butcher block_. I say we just kill her now and go after Hokum."

"We don't know what we're up against, Jirina. We can't afford _not_ to listen to her."

"Xero and I have _seen_ it, and _I_ have seen it all from the _inside_. I can lead you to the bastard's bedroom if you let me."

"Thankfully that's not what we're aiming for." Stinger inwardly lurches at the idea of where Hokum sleeps. "Just his throne room, that and wherever the Darg is manifesting."

"There's a path from the throne room to top of the mountain behind the palace. It's coming from there." Windleaf pushes out. "Like the mouth of hell itself."

"Looks like our work is cut out for us. Although, if you ask me," Clemett pauses, his palm on his chest, "with or without the little lady here, I'd say we've got equal chances of being screwed without the lube -if you catch my drift."

"I catch it." Harv looks down at him briefly, as if to assure him.

"Thanks, bot. But I'm all for her coming along. Like you said, cap, one more body won't hurt our situation. And if it goes south," whatever lay behind his goggles settled on the human woman, "I think M.A.B.L.E could oblige us in taking care of it."

 _He would blow me to kingdom come. Just like that._ Windleaf shudders. _He hasn't changed at all._

Jirina's head twists sharp on her neck, eyes meeting with all the others in the room. "So you all agree with this?"

"It is the most logical course of action in spite of the apparent risk." Harv adjusts his hat. "There is no better option."

"Damn fools, the whole lot of you." the she-Org growls.

"Will you not accompany us, then?" worry creases Xero's forehead.

"Of course I will, even if it's for no other reason than to keep this _rat_ from biting us a second time. So we go, but Cartoff Island is off the table."

"Oh?" Stinger felt himself shrink a little.

"Darglings have been vomiting out of that hole since Lady Jirina and I returned to the surface some...six, seven years ago now. So she's right, I'm afraid South Cartoff is not an option."

"But the Navigators are." Harv whirrs, all eyes falling on him. "The queen has spoken to me of another passage to Wyldern beneath the canopy, though she is uncertain of its exact location. If anyone is, it would be the Blue Orgs and they are allies to Metaboline."

"What makes you think Hokum doesn't know about it?"

"Because his trash isn't stinking up the undergrowth. The whole forest would've been razed already if he did." Stinger stretches, both hands going behind his head. "We've had a few isolated cases of the madness here, but no Darglings. If Hokum _does_ know about it, he's just keeping others from getting through. It may be our only shot."

"While that does sound like a most paramount idea, for all we know that fiend could have an entire garrison waiting on the other side." It was clear by his tone that Xero doesn't want to state the obvious, but does so anyway.

"Then we fight through an entire garrison. At that point it's do or don't, no in between."

" _Finally_ we can agree." Jirina almost smirks. "So to the queen, then?"

"Harv and I will go back to Metaboline, once we have something we'll get back in touch as soon as possible."

"Then I'll go with you, cap," Clemett gets to his feet, "I can contact Eyre a lot faster than any letter on a pigeon you might throw her way."

"Welcome aboard then."

"Lady Jirina and I will remain with the Gadgeteers until you return. Unless, of course, she objects to the idea," the Mage Warrior leans, cocking his head.

"Better than being within ten feet of this filth." and while no one could see it for the metal visor, the Org was scowling hard enough to hurt, still staring right through the only other human in the room.

"I have to get back to the Academy. If the wrong people notice I'm missing..." Windleaf pauses with a small squeak curling out of her throat.

"Of course." Stinger needs no further explanation. "Is there any way we could contact you?"

"No...but I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"How _comforting._ "

Windleaf's back stiffens, straightens, and she finally has the gumption to look up and acknowledge the Org's presence. A move she almost immediately regrets. "If you've got something to say, then say it."

"I don't trust you." she wastes no time at all. "I would happily cave in your skull this instant if I were anyone else. But even _that's_ too good for you. I'd say plenty more if there was time." Jirina jerks away and pushes passed Xero, nearly putting him on his backside as her heavy shoulder jars him. The cabin door swings back, smacking the wall and she ducks through the opening.

Xero rights himself and brushes his hands down the front of his coat. "Please forgive her. This wasn't easy for her to do."

Everyone's faces -those that were visible that is- stretched with the same expression. Somber, pitying.

"Any idea what happened?"

"Far worse things than what became of us, captain, to be sure." then the old man shrugs, suddenly looking that much older. "Good luck on your errand, lad. Hope to see you again." And he follows the same path out onto the deck.

Windleaf slowly sinks back to her previously diminished posture as she covers her face with her hands. Her elbows prop atop her thighs as Stinger watches, his expression holding steady. The captain looks at Harv and Clemett, requesting silently with a tip of his chin that they leave. They oblige, closing the door behind them.

Stinger then shakes his head with a quiet breath. "I can't imagine."

"I can." Windleaf counters through the space between her pressing hands. "She'll never forgive me."

"Jirina doesn't forgive _anyone_." Which is entirely true. "But...maybe if this all pans out...who knows."

The Archmage drops her hands to her sides as she stands up. "I know. If Hokum doesn't kill me, she will certainly try given a chance."

"Well, maybe the lot of us working this through to the end will make her think twice about it, at the very least."

"I won't hold my breath." she shakes her head, starting to turn away from him. She feels him quickly round the desk and settle at her side, a hand circling her upper arm. She looks back at him, meeting his gaze. "What do you want me to say?"

His expression is soft with empathy. "Nothing. I just want you to know...I still believe in you. Never really stopped." though he had come perilously close to doing just that many times over the past decade. "No matter how this ends up...you can count on me to stick by you."

Her face stretches, lips parting and sable brows tightening gently. All of that guilt and self loathing lurched in her very core, like a bolder rolling over, and it was a sensation she simply couldn't handle. She twists the rest of the way and hooks her arms around him and just _squeezes_. Her eyes burn behind screwed shut lids.

"It'll be all right." he says quietly, returning the gesture, knowing how badly she needs it.

"Do you forgive me?" her voice breaks against his shoulder.

No hesitation. "I do. To hell with the others if they don't -that's their hang-up."

Windleaf tries to thank him, jaw working but no real words. Just a half sob that gets lost as she tucks her head against his collar bone.

What he would give to have the circumstances be different.

"I have to go." she chokes out finally, pushing herself away from him with unsteady hands. "I've already stayed too long."

"Keep in touch, we'll work as fast as we can."

"I know. Goodbye, Stinger."

There's so much despair and urgency in her face that he can't speak. He only dips his chin in a curt nod just before she exits the cabin. He finds himself listening, able the hear her footsteps as she crosses the deck and then stop suddenly as she must have started down the gangplank. He feels her very presence eventually dissipate, the sudden, complete absence almost painful.

Stinger swallows it down and leans into a set of confident strides that bring him out on deck. He calls out to his crew.

"All hands, make ready to set sail! We depart for Metaboline on the next bough-tide!"

Author's Note: So, yeah, there's this thing. I've searched via Google, and to my knowledge, this is the first and only Shadow Madness fic. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me, it won't hurt my feelings one bit. (unless you correct me like an asshole, then you can just twirl on it.) Why am I doing this? Because my muse dropped off her dirty laundry for me to take care of. "Oh, you have all these other projects? Too bad, here's something else that you NEED to do right now. 'Kay-thanks-bye." And why an altered universe? Because the game in itself is a complete story. Somehow the idea of the supposed ending of the story being turned upside-down was intriguing enough to do this. So yeah. Chances are good you'll get the most out of this if you've played the game. And if you haven't, there's a Let's Plays on youtube by MagicNash89.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Two**

For someone like Jirina, growing accustomed to a place like Eyre is next to impossible. Everything is synthetic, artificial and sterile in an unsettling fashion. Though she has been dwelling in the flying city for some time now, she is never really comfortable. She misses the earth, the dark security of home that is such a stark contrast to what she is forced to inhabit at present. She sleeps on the smooth steely floor because the bed is much too soft for someone who is acclimated to resting on solid stone. The one light in the ceiling of the room has the potential of putting off the glow of a small sun, but she keeps it on the lowest setting to spare her eyes -visor or not. And the food...by Orgran the food is a disgrace to her ancestors.

She isn't alone in the room, rarely is. A young gray Org -just barely a teen by most standards- sits nearby on the floor with her, a stretch of near black fabric spread in front of him and covered in various things. He had been sticking to her like glue since they met some...eight years ago, and even at adolescence he was talented. The first weapon he ever made -he might have been five years old- was a glass knife he fashioned from the remains of a shattered window. And if she remembers correctly, he has already killed a dozen Darglings with it.

On the stretch of cloth are other various small weapons, countless finer stone knives and a small pile of stones for a slingshot the boy had made from skittervore hide. He makes almost everything himself, otherwise he does so with as little assistance as he can get away with. Something Jirina actually admires about him.

He checks each item in meticulous fashion, making sure nothing needs repair or adjustment.

For a moment Jirina just watches him from her place on the floor, quiet. Then "How comes your other project?"

He doesn't look up from his work. "The Gadgeteers are helpful, but the bow won't be finished for the trip back."

Jirina nods slowly. She won't fault him for insisting things be done according to the old ways, as time consuming as the process is. She wouldn't do it any different, and by the same token he was more than capable without it. "You don't have to go along, Mezzick." It's a knee-jerk comment; children shouldn't have a place in war.

"I want to." is his quick, resolute response. "It's my home."

Internally she smiles as she nods, thinking if he lives to be a man he would make a splendid Org-Ta warrior.

"Do you think there really is another passage?"

"There's always a chance." she replies with an exhale. "Who can tell all the things a forest such as that can hide?"

"I would like to see it."

"Perhaps you will get an opportunity, if all goes well."

Mezzick nods, seeming as hopeful as he can muster. "Where is the Mage Warrior?"

"Waiting for word back from the others. I believe he is growing anxious."

"I agree."

She's smiling on the inside again. What an observant boy.

"It's been a week." he continues. "Do you think they're safe?"

"Most likely. Between the three of them they're bound to get something right." and she almost chuckles. Almost. She sees him grinning a little, making it hard to resist doing the same. Clearly Orgs have their own definition of humor.

Xero comes into the shared room moments later, as if the mere mention of him is enough to make the automatic door slide back. He steps into the dim light with his hands folded behind his back, his snowy brow low and a sigh passing though him. Both Orgs look up, though Jirina is the only one who speaks. Mezzick still doesn't know how best to talk to the Mage Warrior.

"Still nothing?"

"Afraid so." he nods, the creases of age in his face seeming deeper than usual. "I believe the ever-patient commodore thought me to be a bit of a nuisance so I saw myself out."

"I would suggest that you rest a while, but I doubt you would agree."

"Quite right. Besides, it's the middle of the day; not an opportune time for taking naps."

"The elderly have quite the reputation for doing just that,"

The tone in her voice -so suggestive- made him buzz his lips in disapproval. She actually smiles, showing a hint of teeth before she dips her chin so he cannot have too good a look. "I'll have you know I feel rather _peppy_ for my age."

"Aye, and it's all in your mouth."

" _Bah_." he dismisses her with a swatting motion of his hand and snap of his head to one side, trying to ignore how even the boy chuckles at him.

"I mean no personal offense, Xero. Just taking your advice."

"When I said you should try laughing more often, I meant -by no means- for you to do so at my expense!"

"Baby steps, as I've heard it said." Then she composes herself, expression unreadable again. "I'm sure if something went wrong we would have heard something by now."

"Would we?" He crosses the room in a few long, slow strides and eases down to sit on the bed.

"It is my understanding these...beings can contact one another over great distances, send signals when they are in distress. I imagine Clemett would be able to do the same."

"Ah, yes, of course." He remembers, the Gadgeteer having called the device a radio. His brow creases again. "I suppose I'm just sick of all this waiting."

"Indeed." The feeling is certainly mutual.

"How do you stand it?"

"Patience has become a virtue in the last decade...albeit begrudgingly."

"Fair enough." he nods after a moment. Languishing crippled as Hokum's prisoner for a number of years often changes the temperament of a person, even one as stalwart as Jirina. Never mind all the frustration and difficulties she faced in eventually becoming what Xero called a Battle Mage, which he witnessed first hand. After all that he thinks she must have the forbearance of a saint.

"Why not walk around the city? That tends to soothe you."

"Would you come along?"

"I'm content where I am, thank you."

He frowns a little though he knows she doesn't see it. "I would appreciate someone to talk to."

"We're talking now."

"Humor me, won't you?" He holds out hope even as she glares at him, positive he knew what face she was making beneath the visor even though all he can see is a slight kink on the edge of her mouth. It's the same look every woman makes when they are dealing with an insistent man.

Finally she shrugs. "If I must. I'll be back." she says to the boy who only nods without looking up from his work.

The two of them emerge into the steely corridor beyond the door and start down it, heading for the central lift that allows access to the other floors. Not a word passes between them in the several minutes that pass as they ride the lift to the lowest level, to Recreation. Even for several moments after they arrive and begin to walk, the Mage Warrior says nothing and all Jirina can do is focus on the heavy stone scrapes of her feet on the floor. She doesn't tolerate this for very long.

"So speak." she demands gently.

"Oh, my apologies. Lost in thought." he admits, his chin jerking upwards so he doesn't focus so much on the ground. "How much have you told Mezzick about the situation?"

"Enough. Why, do you have concerns about him?"

"No, not really. I suppose...did you tell him about our meeting with the others?"

"Only that we went."

"And Windleaf?"

"What about her?" there is an obvious shift in her tone and gait, a roughness to them both.

"Does he know who she is?" He watches and waits for an answer, seeing her mouth twist downward.

"No."

"But surely he's asked."

"If this is what you wanted to discuss I would sooner have stayed behind."

"Jirina,"

"If you're so concerned," her fists clench at her sides, fingers grinding together, "I told him the one who betrayed us was killed. Which -to me- is wholly true as that woman is dead to me."

His brows lift.

She scowls. "The boy is the type to defend me. If he knew Windleaf was the cause of my... he would surely try to kill her. I may not be too thrilled about Windleaf's existence...but we need her if we intend to succeed."

"My," a little gasp, "I dare say I'm impressed."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not, far from it. I'm being sincere." he raises his hands. "To be completely honest I thought you would actually follow through with your threat to 'cave in' the poor girl's skull. You showed amazing restraint."

"It wasn't for a lack of desire, believe me." Jirina snorts. "As I said. We need her. Now could we talk about something else?"

"Very well." he nods, his curiosity satisfied. "How have you been holding up?"

"Something _else._ " and the repetition comes through a hard clenched jaw.

"Come now, your secret's safe with me." he smiles, amused.

"I _have_ no secrets." she bites back. "Besides, you're the one who wanted someone to talk to, so _talk_."

Xero laughs a little, resigning himself to the fact that she may always resist in such fashion. "Well, to be frank...I don't know how I feel about this. Before I was so confident...we all were...now...even ten years wiser and I'm simply unsure of all of it."

"It's expected." Jirina answers after a moment. "Hokum was well entrenched before, now he's had time to raise his defenses because we showed our hand. He knows what's coming. For the most part, anyway. Our only option is to expect the very worst and hope it isn't more than we can handle."

"It certainly _is_ a valid thought, yes." he nods. "You've thought about this a great deal, haven't you?"

"I have." it's _all_ she has been thinking about for a long while now. Maybe even years. Not so much the dire circumstances of this as the potentiality of tearing Hokum's tongue through the back of his head with her bare hands. _Revenge_ is really what she is thinking about.

And, in a way, Xero senses it. The Mage Warrior can read a great deal from the Org's body language what she is feeling, but can take no such visual clues in regards to what's going through her mind. Disarming Undrashi traps is easier. Still he has his gut instincts and sharp mind, more than enough to make an educated guess.

"Will it help you feel better?" he asks gently, his voice just audible.

"Hm?"

"Killing Hokum."

"Oh yes." she answers quickly.

"It won't undo anything."

"That's not what revenge is meant to do, contrary to popular belief." she exhales. "Vengeance is simply the handing down of well-earned punishment, not a salve for one's wounds. Anyone who expects the latter is in for a rude awakening."

"A fair observation. Do you feel the same towards Windle-"

"Finish that question and I guarantee you will _not_ like my response."

He swallows and then clears his throat. "Very well, but I have to admit that I am concerned...I don't want your judgment clouded."

Jirina jerks to a stop, her feet scraping the floor as she turns to face him. Her face is set in a steely snarl and she growls "I _dare_ you to say that again."

Xero stands resolute beneath her heavy shadow though she is nearly a head taller than himself. He's one of the few who can. He feels the weight of her stare, her heated offense to his admission, like threatening claws on his senses. He's cautious, but not afraid. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He would never fear a friend.

"Jirina, please, you have to admit that I have room to worry." Xero does his best not to sound accusatory, though feels as though he's failing, albeit slightly. "I believe I know you best out of the lot of us..."

"And that gives you reason to doubt me?"

"That's not what I'm saying,"

"I know what you're _trying_ to say, old man." she cuts him off. "I know damn good and well what you're so bothered over, and it insults me. Putting my personal vendetta before ending Hokum's tyranny would make me no better than that...that _bitch_."

Xero feels an internal shudder. Jirina _never_ used that word, having once explained that it was simply detestable to say. It was ugly, and reserved solely for the lowest of the low in the Org-Ta's eyes. For a moment all he can do is look at her, violet eyes searching then sympathetic. "My apologies."

It takes time for her snarl to soften, but when it does she forces out "Accepted." she turns away from him, beginning to walk again. "Perhaps you should check again for word from our friends."

"Jirina," he calls after her, but bites back any further utterance as she throws up a hand. A common gesture meant to silence him and cease his pushing. It isn't until she disappears on the lift at the far end of the floor that he lets out a heavy shrug.

 _(II)_

Below the canopy of the Deep Forest Sea the air is heavy with moisture, oppressive and yet cool. The stalwart shade is broken only in part by millions of pinpoints of light, like stars, as sunshine manages between spaces in the leaves. The buzz and tumult of innumerable creatures radiates throughout the underneath, masking any other sounds until you get further down. The seven of them carefully follow a downward winding collection of great branches, the already minimal light diminishing as they go. The Orgs are well adapted to this, but the others were forced to rely on a little magic to light the way down. Outside the almost comforting glow emanating from Xero's hand comes glimpses of larger creatures hiding out there, some flying, some crawling along the bark of nearby trees.

"It's much like home." Mezzick says quietly, knowing undue sound isn't welcome. He is mystified by the place, head turning on his neck that he might look in all directions.

"Just as perilous as well, to be sure." Jrinia catches the faint shape of something just beyond the edge of the path, part of her hoping it would continue on its way and leave them be. "Any sign of the bottom yet?"

"I don't believe so."

She just grumbles.

The trunk of the tree is a near three miles down, not a sliver of light from the canopy making it to the cool ground covered in dead leaves. Xero leads the way from the end of the branch stairwell, light still coming from his hand as they file down a makeshift path that had been made through the piles of tree sheddings. Jirina watches carefully from the back of the line, expecting something to be hiding in the seemingly mile-high piles.

In the distance is torchlight, a pair of bright orange stars in the dark. Blue Orgs from one of the dozens of villages are waiting for them by a great, gaping opening in the earth. They have nothing to say as far as how far the passage goes or where it comes out, only that it will take them to the world beneath. No better or worse than the passage of Cartoff, and they take to the tunnel with the same air of determination and resignation to whatever they will find inside. It is darker still down here, the air twice as heavy and only growing colder as they descend.

The cavern yawns in certain places and thins to nary a whisper in others, demanding they pass through only one at a time with Mezzick taking the lead. He would wait on the other side, receiving weapons and other gear before watching with quiet fascination as the humans squeeze their way through. How the harvester manages without getting stuck is the closest thing the boy has ever seen to a miracle. Thankfully the party would have to navigate only two more of these close quarters situations.

It feels like hours push by before they see light that isn't magic. It's a dull, rusty glow coming up from an opening in the bottom of the passage. Xero gestures for the others to remain while he takes a closer look, his back pressing against cold slick rock as he inches towards the edge of it. With a ripple of his fingers the magic in his hand dissipates and he leans forward, bushy brows steadily rising.

"Well...can't see much of anything." he says with mild hesitation. "There looks to be a touch of fog."

"Let me see," Clemett pushes his way to the front, managing his steps carefully as he comes to Xero's side. His large hands begin patting his front pockets and pouches, searching until he finds what he wants; something with a thick coiled cable connected to a small, palm-sized box. Kneeling down he unwinds the cord and allows it to go through the opening until it is fully extended. He then presses a selection of buttons on the box in his other hand and watches a small screen light up, listening to its little beeps and whistles.

"It's no wonder why we haven't seen any Darglings here." the Gadgeteer shakes his head, starting to pull the cable back to him.

"What did you find?" Xero bends down, squinting as if he might see something if he tried a little harder.

"Only a flying Stalker could reach this tunnel." he tucks the device back in its place.

"Meaning?"

"Think of it like this," Clemett stands, brushing the dirt off his knees, "we're sittin' on Wyldern's roof. Just under us is her ceiling."

"Are you... _quite_ sure?" the Mage Warrior simply can't believe what he's hearing.

"I _wish_ I was kidding." with his fists on his hips he shrugs, then looks back at the others, the meager light reflecting off the lenses of his goggles. "Any ideas? I mean...magic seems to be our only option. I don't have anything that comes even close to getting us to the ground in one piece."

For a moment there isn't even a whisper between the lot of them, just searching eyes exchanging from one person to another.

"Can you still summon those familiars?" Stinger catches Windleaf's attention.

"I can," she starts, hesitating briefly, "but Hokum would sense a conjuration that big. He'd know it's mine, too. Might as well just walk up to his front door if we do that."

"Just thought I'd ask."

"I have a spell, though there's no telling if it would last long enough for us to reach the ground." Xero offers. "Could your little contraption measure the drop?"

"Nah, not that far. I mean, there's stuff like that, but we don't have time for me to run back to Eyre and get it." Clemett shakes his head. "But if I had to guess...it's a least a mile to the ground."

"I am afraid it is the only idea I have." clearly the admission pains him.

"Wouldn't Hokum pick up on your hocus pocus, too?" Stinger tips his chin.

"Aye, most likely, though I doubt he would know it was me in particular. Yes, it raises suspicion, but little else. So I would hope."

"How long does the spell usually last, Xero?"

The Mage Warrior gives his attention back to Clemett. "When it's only myself it can be sustained for quite some time, say a quarter of an hour. But dividing that between six more of us..."

"Depending on how fast our descent would be," the Gadgeteer crosses his arms, one set of thick fingers rolling against one bicep, "we might get two minutes."

"I would survive the fall." Harv whirrs. "That should spare some aether."

Clemett laughs while the others simply stare at the robot. "You would be a chrome pancake! Not to rain on your parade, pal, but we don't really need to be down a pair of hands."

"You could repair me as you did before."

"Assuming I could find the bloody parts, yeah, but did you forget what I said earlier about time? We ain't got a lot. Fixing you up wouldn't be doing us any real favors."

"I understand. Very well." he adjusts his hat, a quiet whisper of dry straw on metal.

"I can manage myself." Jirina pushes forward a few feet. "The earth will break my fall."

"Oh yeah, along with everything else once you reach terminal velocity." and the Gadgeteer _feels_ the weight of the she-Org scowling.

"I'm Wyldern's greatest ally, she won't let me die."

"I-if you say so, big gal. If you say so." he simply nods, eyes averting to his feet. "So we risk it? Anyone got any better ideas?"

Not a word in protest or addition from any of them.

"Suppose that settles it." Xero takes a breath. "Very well. Everyone, gather round. We'll need to stay close for Wraith Form to affect all of us."

"Mezzick and I will be right behind you. Good luck."

"See you at the bottom." Clemett tips his hand with a cock of his head.

Then, one by one, they jump.

As the name suggests, Wraith Form allows one to turn their physical body into something more like pure energy; without solid substance but not without form. Perfect for sneaking around unseen or shirking the responsibilities of gravity. Xero manages to muster up the incredible focus the spell demands even over the great roar of air in his ears as they fall. And he's thankful that none of the others are screaming in spite of being mentally prepared to tune it out.

He waits for just the right moment, working off only what he can see and his gut instincts to judge their ever closing distance from the ground. His gray matter shudders as the spell is released, a heavy chill washing over him as well as the others while physical form gives way to a faint light that resembles their unique silhouettes. The speed of their descent maintains, but the roaring of air and its oppressive pressure against their bodies subsides. As the ground draws closer they all move, putting their feet beneath them. The landing is jarring, but there is no pain or injury.

Windleaf hits her knees, palms touching ground to keep her from falling on her face. She gasps for air and fights the urge to throw up. And with the spell beginning to wear off, all of her physical sensation returning, it only gets worse. People were never meant to fly, simple as that.

"Well, that was fun," Xero brushes the creases out of his clothes and rights his hair once he's able to touch it again. "Everyone all right? No body hurt?"

"Let you know in a second," Windleaf croaks.

Xero's face cinches with empathy. "No rush, my lady, that spell isn't easy on most -especially the first time." Her only response is a stifled gag.

"What about Jirina?" Harv observes that the party is still two souls short. Everyone -save Windleaf- lifts their head and looks up into the crimson darkness.

A boulder the size of a small house comes hurtling down, whistling as it cuts the air. Those who must move out of the way, Clemett almost falling as the massive rock strikes the ground, lifting all other loose objects around it with the impact. The great stone suddenly splits with a deafening _CHACK_ from underneath, a collection of right-angle breaks working upward towards the top. After a second the two halves separate, peeling apart like the covers of a book. Jirina and Mezzick walk out from the center of it with all the hurry of a Sunday stroll, not even bothering to brush off the dust.

"Are we all alive and accounted for?" The Org turns her head this way and that, seeing for herself. "Seems so. Anyone aware as to our location?"

"Well, you're the locals now, Jirina." Stinger straightens, Windleaf on his arm.

"There are only mesas this tall in the north." Mezzick chimes in, having taken a moment to take in their surroundings. "Maybe even passed the Banori Tanglewood...or what's left of it."

"You could be right," Jirina nods, "very well. Mechanic, you and the robot come with me." and she gestures to them with one hand towards the edge of the mesa.

"And what would you have the rest of us do?" Xero clears his throat.

"Stay out of trouble until we get back."

There is no room to argue.

()

Wyldern is her home, but Jirina has never felt so unwelcome. The heavy dampness of the chilled air no longer soothes her as it once did, nor did she consider the blanched amber of the earth beneath her comforting. Her mind crackles with the idea that this is now enemy territory, tainted with the Darg's reeking presence. It sours her stomach as she navigates down the sloping side of the mesa, Clemett and Harv close behind.

They start southward upon reaching the bottom, finding a path that winds between other mesas and mile-high stalagmites. It's quiet save for the muted echo of their own steps, the occasional tumbling of small pebbles from above due to the passing by of rock-dwelling lizards or even bats. No sign of Darglings yet. Though there is evidence of something further south, of something having at least _been there_. Banori rock drawings left behind by the earliest generations of the strange bat/human hybrids.

The mesas eventually give way to a stretch of sand and a steady coursing river. On the other side -perhaps fifty feet from bank to bank- is the shadowed edge of the Banori Tanglewood, the dark tan and off-white stripes of the bark fading into the black thickness of the forest. Jirina looks downriver then upriver, neither seeing nor sensing anything out of the ordinary. She asks if Harv and Clemett have picked up on something that she didn't -although she's convinced the possibility of that is next to impossible. Everything checks out so she sends the two of them back to fetch the others while she continues to watch the river.

Once reunited they push westward, around the Tanglewood towards a closing horizon of bright red caps. Mushroom caps, that is. Giant ones. But they don't go beyond the pale fleshy stalks, unwilling to risk the chance the Toparri Grove has been tainted by the Darg and knowing they wouldn't help anyhow if they happened to still be intact. Instead they push southward once more, working the narrow trail between the grove and the Tanglewood until it spits them out at the feet of a collection of towering stalagmites that resemble a monster's teeth. After a brief respite they manage through them to the other side, to territory they actually know and remember.

Eventually the path comes to a fork, split in two by the mountain that flanks the palace. To the east is the old council building that was claimed as a fortress before, and likely remains so now. To the west is whatever became of the hostile camp they had routed ten years before. Chances are just too far out of their favor that it is still empty.

"I don't believe we should split up, too risky." Stinger crosses his arms and shakes his head as they stand together at the fork. "Even if they don't know we're coming..."

"Agreed, but traveling all-together would be much too dangerous." Xero mimics the gesture almost perfectly. "And never mind the teeming masses of Darglings that are surely ahead of us. I believe this is one of those 'damned-if-we-do' situations."

"We need to see what kind of cards we're playing with, folks." Clemett says, certain. "I say a couple of us scout ahead while the rest wait. It's worked so far, right?"

"As that may be, I dare say the situation is far more volatile here, my friend."

"What other choice do we have, Xero?" Jirina tips her chin sharply. "I believe splitting up would be favorable considering time is so critical."

"So who goes?" The Gadgeteer's head moves one way and then the other.

"Windleaf and I will go check out Nagruk's old place. I remember it pretty well." Stinger offers.

"I will go with you, Jirina." Mezzick takes one step forward.

"No." she responds immediately, shaking her head. "Stay here with Xero and the reaper,"

"Harvester." the automaton corrects flatly.

"We can't risk something happening to you before we even get to that dirty mongrel's door." In a strange, uncommon show of what could be considered affection Jirina puts her large stone hand to his shoulder. "I know you are anxious -rightfully so- but it's not time yet. Come along, mechanic."

"Right behind you, big gal." Clemett shoulders his cannon and takes the longest strides he can to keep up.

()

The place hasn't changed. The path is still clearly marked, well worn, its boundaries decorated with an aligned selection of bleached animal skulls. Of what animals they once belonged to is anyone's guess, but they had surely been massive -their heads alone being the size of a wagon wheel if not bigger. Windleaf and Stinger take the trail with caution, not wanting to linger but not wishing to move too quickly at the risk of being noticed by something they have yet to see. Even the slightest stray sound they don't produce themselves is treated as a potential foe, making them duck for the nearest cover and reach for their weapons.

"I almost don't like it." Stinger says, his voice just above a whisper. "We should've at least tripped over someone by now. Hokum didn't happen to just leave this place empty, did he?"

"I don't know." Windleaf checks over her shoulder for -easily- the tenth time. "I wasn't so much in-the-know as you might think. He kept his business _his business_."

Stinger huffs a sarcastic laugh. "In a way I'm kind of grateful, but it sure would've helped us right now if he was a chatterbox. I always pegged him for one."

"Oh he is," she was too quick to say, "he's just more selective about who he brags to."

"So much for wishful thinking." his shoulders bounce, his disappointment minimal.

Stinger would find evidence to prove his suspicions as they drew deeper into the old camp. Hokum _had_ kept the place active, they discover, as what appears to be a training camp complete with barracks full of both newcomers and seasoned troops, all armed to the teeth. All this and more lay in wait behind a well stabilized wood and stone barrier around the property with guards walking inside and outside its perimeter.

From behind the scarce cover of sticker bushes the two spend but a moment looking the place over, able to make educated guesses in regards to what they couldn't see.

"We won't be going this way." Stinger just shakes his head as he draws back.

"You think the council building will be any easier to get through?"

"I didn't say that." the two start back the way they came. "Guess it all depends on what the others find. Won't be able to make much of a choice until then."

And what the others find is just as great of a problem, if not greater than just a garrison of Darglings.

"It's bad, folks." Clemett starts straightaway as he comes into earshot, Jirina just behind him. "Real bad."

"At least you two made it back in one piece," Xero nods, "what did you find?"

"The place has been turned into a Vrita nest."

All heads turn sharp to the Gadgeteer, save for Harv's. The robot's artificial gaze eased from one companion to the other until he catches Clemett's attention. "Do elaborate, if you please."

"That _was_ before we fixed you, wasn't it?" he remembers almost fondly. "Think of a stalker only about five times bigger, with wings too."

"Ah." there's genuine awe in the buzz he makes. "That could be a problem."

"It is, especially since there are several of them that are fully grown _and_ in the midst of mating." Jirina adds. "There are no less than three females, no sign of the male, and surely countless young. Getting through there will be difficult...to say the very least."

"So what did you guys find?" Clemett gestures to the two humans.

Stinger scratches the back of his neck. "Well, all things considered, not much. Hokum's got a garrison set up where Nagruk used to be. Lots of bodies if I were to guess, but nothing like the things crawling around where you two were. Either route we take it's going to be a fight. We'll definitely lose the element of surprise."

"Not necessarily." Xero counters. "Surely we can think of a way to make the situation work for us. True, there isn't much room for us to muss about or even make a mistake but,"

"He has a point. Taking one location would only alert the other to our presence." Jirina adds. "And _that_ would alert Hokum."

"If it didn't get us killed out right." Windleaf pushes her fingers hard across her scalp. "So what, do we get the garrison troops to start killing each other?"

"That's certainly a thought." Xero's face lights up, snowy brows jumping. "I think a little chaos and a well placed spell or two could achieve that end rather well."

"And the Vrita? I don't remember magic working so well on those things." Clemett shifts his stance, putting the butt of his cannon on the ground. "I mean, I've got some of my special ammunition,"

"How much?"

"Enough, head, don't you worry. I'm just wondering if they'll actually work is all." one could almost hear a little smile in his voice. "I'll go to the nest, I can bean those monsters from a distance no problem."

"I'll go with you, mechanic." the she-Org nods. "There aren't half the troops at the council building, so the larger portion of us should handle the garrison. Make sure no one escapes."

Windleaf swallows, not liking the sound of wholesale slaughter, but resigns to the idea as the others agree to the plan.

Mezzick steps close to Jirina, speaking quietly after taking gentle hold of her wrist. "Am I to stay with you?"

"No. Stay with the humans, they need you more. And Xero will look after you."

The way the boy's posture sinks shows his disappointment, but he doesn't argue. "May your path end in victory."

"And yours." a curt nod. "Wait for the mechanic and I outside of Cyl Og Sul; if you don't receive my signal in two hours, go without us."

"How will we know your signal?" one snowy brow shot up, Xero genuinely wondering.

"You won't miss it, trust me." And she grins.

Author's Note: Don't know how, but it just keeps coming. Ah well, might as well let it, might actually finish something at this rate. I'm starting to like this little UA I'm building, though I'm sure most of you have no idea what half this shit is anyway. Maybe I'll do some illustrations soon. Anyway, hope you're enjoying it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Three**

Cyl Og Sul had once been a town full of common folk and merchants. Now it looks like a cemetery, the crumbling remains of buildings hauntingly resembling headstones. Even the church is a pile of rubble. It's much too quiet here, not a soul to be seen anywhere. And above the remnants looms the "living" walls of Hokum's palace, though at the moment they appear to be no more than stone.

Stinger and the others linger well outside the skirts of the town, out of sight and out of mind for the time being. The garrison fell with -thankfully- little trouble, not a single Dargling escaping with their life. Xero had cast an incredible spell to confound anything alive that he could readily see, those effected beginning to kill one another in a tumult of noise and bloodshed. The few that were spared the magical malady tried to flee, only to be picked off by sword or bow or sling. It had been ugly, but certainly effective.

Stinger leans away from the large pile of stones they hide behind, turning. "How long has it been?"

"Forty-five minutes and twenty seconds." Harv responds. "Perhaps we should go and assist them?"

"The thought has crossed my mind." the human nods. "What do you guys think?"

"I am neutral." Harv answers.

"I'm always up for an adventure, although one can imagine the tongue lashing we're bound to get from Jirina if we show up to help her without her needing it." Xero lays out the pros and cons, one hand palm up and going back and forth with each point.

"A risk I'm willing to take." he almost laughs. "What about you, Wind, what do you think?"

With arms crossed her eyes slide to him without her head turning. She looks uncertain, brow gently knitted and lips tucked between her teeth.

"Whatever you decide." She says finally after a hard swallow.

His face scrunches. "You okay?" his tone is quieter.

She can't lie, almost shaking her head. "We're just...we're close to it." The Archmage _feels_ Hokum's -the Darg's- proximity to her. It's a nasty, tar like heaviness all over her, under her skin, and it's sickening. That little bit of Mannheim in her is stirring, wriggling towards something familiar like an eel under her ribs. "I'll be fine...I don't have a choice."

There is really nothing he can say to ease the situation, never mind how badly he wants to.

Mezzick is sitting, listening, quietly watching the exchange. He feels the anxiety in the air on his bare back like tiny hot raindrops, a gentle buzz on the surface of his skin, but that is as deep as the sensation goes. He isn't as restless as when they first arrived now that he has felled a few Darglings, but there is still a desire to _move_.

"Fairing all right, lad?"

He looks up, seeing the Mage Warrior's attempt at a comforting smile. He nods. "Jirina will be here."

"I don't doubt that," Xero admits "some of us have a hard time waiting, though. I'm sure it-," he has to pause as the earth beneath him -beneath everyone- shudders with enough force to set him off balance. He catches himself before he falls, his brows jumping towards his gently receded hairline.

It doesn't stop there. The ground quakes, the shaking gradually increasing until none of them can manage to be upright. The pile of stones they hide behind rattles to the ground, rolling away like scattering rodents. But this also allows them to see what in Keerg's name is going on.

If Hokum isn't aware of their presence already, he surely will be now.

With hanging jaws they all watch the road leading to the council building, watch the massive shapes come barreling down the road like an avalanche. Three giant humanoid creatures made of stone, taller than Tyr Og Nor's walls tear their way into the remains of the town and towards the barrier protecting Hokum's palace.

The walls spring to life, the stone suddenly beginning to stretch away and form vague illusions of limbs. Between the long, gripping claws the stone sinks in and splits on the horizontal, going jagged to form teeth. The first of the stone giants falls into the creature, solid fists swinging and connecting with the sound of thunder. With the first blow more sections of the wall come alive, more clutching limbs reaching out. The other two giants join the first and tear into the battlements.

"Do you suppose that's the signal?" the volume of Harv's voice is at the maximum to compensate for the great commotion.

There isn't a quick answer as they all recoil at a great flash of light, bolts of magical energy flying from the shoulder of one of the giants. The result of which left one of the wall creatures half faceless. Shortly after an arc of bright purple smoke followed a similar path, something ballistic crashing into the gate, setting the massive doors cockeyed on their hinges.

"You might be onto something there!" Stinger almost laughs, hope renewed. "Come on, we've got to get as close as we can before Hokum starts throwing out troops!" and he breaks into a full sprint, expecting the others to follow.

"Stay close to me, lad." Xero helps Mezzick stand.

"I won't let you out of my sight."

()

It reeks inside the palace, teems with the stench of death and rot and... _wickedness_. How they pressed so hard and so far through a phalanx of Darglings is anyone's guess, but they managed it somehow. They have reached the nest of corridors just beyond the antechamber of the palace, ducked into the darkness of a side passage. Just a moment to recover from the initial push to gain entrance.

Jirina lays against the wall and slides to the floor, sweat rolling down her face and her thighs trembling before she lets them go lax. Mezzick is at her side immediately, pulling a glass vial from the rolled stretch of cloth wrapped about his torso.

"Incredible work." Xero compliments her quietly as he exhales, wiping his brow to smear it with both sweat and blood. The others are spattered with the thick black stuff as well, trying to rub it off. Save for the harvester who didn't seem to notice or much less care.

Jirina chugs the contents of the bottle before responding, her body jolting with a shiver just before she speaks. "For a moment I didn't think I would be able to do it. The strain was more than I...anticipated."

"You handled it like a pro, big gal." Clemett agrees. "And while I'd love to keep patting you on the back, we just don't have time. We need to use this confusion while we can."

"Agreed." She takes a deep breath and pushes to her feet. "Let's be on." Before taking another step, however, Jirina manages to snatch Xero by the wrist, silently commanding his attention. "You'll watch the boy, won't you?"

"Of course I will. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just...we're so _close_."

"My dear lady, nothing will happen to him, I won't allow it. I'd sooner die."

"I'd rather you didn't. Without him, we have no means of casting the Banishment spell, and without _you_ those components mean _nothing._ Do you follow?"

Under any other circumstances, Xero would be flattered, but stakes are much too high for that at present. This was -easily- the closest the Org-Ta had ever come to showing worry for anyone, and _himself_ of all people. Had he the time...

He sighs with a gentle smile and a nod. "I'll watch him as if he were my own, and myself if it eases your mind."

"It does. Now come, we must catch up."

()

With one great heave from all seven of them, the incredible doors of the throne room swing open, yawning with a loud and shrill cry from strained metal hinges. A wave of dark energy washes outward from behind it, covering the lot of them in the horrid sensation and stench of the Darg. Now they are in its very nest, the darkened well from which its taint belches forth. Before them stretches a polished marble floor, a shimmering pool of a roiling something at the center of the room. Beyond the viewing pool is the occupied throne, a shape so dark it's hard to make out exactly what it is. Shadowed and wildly misshapen.

Stinger pushes to the front as they enter the chamber, taking the position like it belongs to him with confident strides and a fluid draw of his cutlass. His jaw is tight, the muscles along the joint bulging, and his fingers curl as adrenaline pounds through him. He's going to kill this bastard even if it's the last thing he does.

The others feel the same, save for Windleaf. She fights the gut wrenching instinct to shrink away and hide, now in the same room as the demon himself. The horror she had subjugated herself to for a decade. She half relents to it, posture morphing, feet attempting to turn her right around and send her back the way she came. But she resists, forcing her body to move into another action. With bow and an arrow already in hand she joins them with perfect grace, raising the weapon and letting the arrow fly without a second thought. Before she realizes what's happening the arrow is cutting passed Stinger's right ear, just missing him, and her insides are twisting in disbelief at her own actions.

The others stop, watching, unable to speak.

It would have hit him right between the eyes, but the arrow stops mere inches from his face before turning to dust without even a single flinch of movement from what remained of the man in the chair. A sharp hiss of air passes through him, echoes through the chamber, and one reddened, slitted eye opens to pierce the darkness surrounding him. Windleaf feels him looking at her, _through_ her, and her insides turn to ice.

"Conniving whore." it comes out a gargled whisper, words that the others in the room don't hear as much as they feel. Then he speaks up. "I suppose you've come to kill me. I'm afraid you're much too late. I've been dead for years."

Stinger squints, still unsure of what he sees. Is his mouth even moving? Is there actually any life in him, or is something else just wearing his skin? Regardless...

"Surrender, Hokum, and I'll kill you quick." he raises the cutlass, the blade lining up with the throne.

"Still a fool." a desiccated sigh. "The whole damn lot of you, fools." The body of Damon Hokum moves, a horrid wet sound rising up from around him as his body pulls away from the throne. Swaths of rancid skin pull away from him, torn from his back to reveal yellowed ribs and flesh blackened with rot. More still oozes down the back his legs and slop to the floor. A massive, tumorous something clings to his shoulders and neck, pulsating and weeping a sticky yellow substance like a sore. It seems alive somehow, or has something alive within it. Hokum steps down from the throne slowly, perhaps not wanting any more of himself to fall off. He takes a small collection of stilted steps towards them, stopping at the edge of the small pool. They still can't see him for what he is.

" _Fools_." he repeats, firmer. Then one bony, green skinned hand lifts from his side, a taloned finger straightened. "Especially _you_."

Windleaf feels Hokum's magic reach out to her like the lunge of a serpent, fangs sinking deep and grabbing hold of the curse he has been holding over her head since the beginning. Feeling like someone is trying to yank her insides through her navel her knees buckle and she hits the floor. Her entire body seizes and she wails at the incredible pain. As the others move en mass on Hokum, Xero goes to his fellow mage's side, throwing up a magical barrier with just an arcing gesture of his hand. Surrounded in light and circling sigils he kneels down, working Windleaf onto her back so he can see what is happening. For a moment he recoils with a jerk, a burst of air working through him.

Rich sable hair is giving way to fainter shades, to gray then white. Her skin thins and creases, the stunning bronze of it becoming dull. The master archer's form diminishes into a thin, frail looking frame. All youth and vigor is hemorrhaging out of her, torn away by rapid aging. She knew it would come to this, knowing keeps the terror from her eyes. Hokum had threatened her before -having left the white streak in her hair as a reminder- and knew it would come to this without fail because a threat is the only word that bastard keeps.

"Help the others, don't worry about me." Windleaf pushes onto her hands and knees, body trembling, weak.

"There has to be a way to reverse-,"

"You have to _kill him_...it's the only way to stop it." she bites back as hard as she's able, which isn't hard at all. She is having trouble breathing. "I'll be fine. Just go."

Xero doesn't want to do it, abandon her like this, but he has no choice. "I'll leave the wall up for you."

She only nods, certain she doesn't need it. Hokum would wait until the curse destroys her, paying her no mind otherwise.

Hokum shows no pain when they strike with both magic and steel. Rotted flesh and other pieces of him fall away without his acknowledgment as he retaliates with a collection of powerful spells. When any of them draw too close the reflective pool shudders and pulses, something solid and black and shapeless reaching out to lash at them. One such tendril attempts to snatch up the harvester, only for it to be sliced in twain by Harv's scythe, something beneath the marble floor shrieking as the limb slithers away. Jirina hurls a ball of light from her hands towards the blackened water, sealing the pool off with a thick sheet of ice. At the very least, whatever is lurking down there would be preoccupied -if just for a moment or two.

The yawning shadows in the vaulted ceilings above them shudder, come to life, and start bleeding down to walls and pulling across the floor towards Hokum's feet. For a moment they come together in a seething mass around him, seeping up his legs to the knee. But then they burst apart, splitting into several smaller puddles of darkness, becoming more like tar. The substance lurches upward, taking a humanoid shape with legs and arms, but then it sprouts horns atop its head and a face rends itself open, shimmering with a cold, lifeless light. A gargling screech scrapes out of the creatures just as they lunge for each them.

All the while, the growth on Hokum's back is moving, pulsing harder. Something within jerks back and forth, the vague outline of body parts press into the venous flesh from underneath.

There's pain throughout her body as Windleaf manages to her feet, knees almost knocking together and her back pitifully hunched. The curse is still working, though slower now -as it was meant to. This death was not meant to be quick, but she hopes it would buy her just a little time. Somehow she straightens, waving one hand to dispel Xero's barrier. She does her best to stabilize herself, raising both hands up above her head and beginning to chant. She feels a still strong grip on her magic, the energy answering her call as it always has. The air stirs in circles around her, picks up and begins to howl. Then it suddenly shifts, following the direction of her hands, blasting from behind her with the force of a storm and bringing with it a countless number of enormous ravens. Their murder almost fills the throne room, a miasma of black feathers and gleaming red eyes.

The ravens go straight for Hokum without a hint of hesitation. The swarm breaks against him like waves against a coastal cliff. It is the first time that Hokum even registers he can feel at all, a horrible cry reaching over the screeching of birds as he falls to the ground, limbs thrashing. The shadows he brought to life scramble to his aid, only to be demolished by the spell.

But Windleaf can only hold it for so long. The expended aether guts her remaining strength, and she feels her body threatening to turn inside out when she lets the magic go. It's like she just threw away ten more years.

Hokum still lives, trying to move, decayed body working almost aimlessly. Stinger isn't about to let him gain another inch. With four long strides he comes to loom over Hokum, cutlass pointed downward. But before he can put the steel through him, Stinger sees Jirina sprinting for him from the corner of his eye.

"Get back!"

Getting smacked with a rolling boulder would not have hurt as much as the Org-Ta tearing him to the ground. Over her shoulder he watches in quiet horror as Hokum -for lack of a better word- explodes in a surge of black slime. There is the distinct acrid hiss of it eating away the marble as it splatters across the floor. Hokum's eyes have darkened enough to look as if he had none in the sockets. The body slumps lower as the tumor beneath him writhes. Something stirs between the split ribs, something emerging from that horrid growth. A pitch black form works its way out of Hokum's remains, partially formed limbs kicking and scratching to be free of the corpse. It has Hokum's eyes...or vice-verse really, and it _stares_ at them. It becomes solid, though its skin is still slick and shimmering like pitch. A mouth full of needle like teeth forms beneath the cutting red eyes, jaws parting to release a wet, smacking snarl.

Before anyone can process what's happening, shake the hard charge of the monster's gaze, it rips itself free from Hokum's husk and begins rippling across the floor at break-neck speed. It is on the hunt for something, something Hokum's petty thoughts and whims wouldn't allow it to pursue. It could _smell_ the source of its doom.

Clemett has the quickest eyes and lines up his cannon to unleash a swift volley of rounds after the creature. One slams heavily into its side, blasting it apart for all of a second before it reforms and becomes whole again. The demonic mass nimbly avoids the others shots, wriggling this way and that as it crosses the chamber in seconds towards something the others can't see. It isn't until they see the mass leap into the air, claws gripping, and then an arrow go through what resembles its head, do they know what's really happening.

It's after the components for the Banishment spell.

"Where's the boy?!" Jirina cries, for the first time sounding desperate as she scrambles to her feet.

"I concealed him to keep him safe!" Xero responds, the hand not holding his scimitar beginning to glow with a violent indigo light.

" _Clearly that is not the case_!"

Mezzick, under the initial protection of Wraith Form, had been keeping to the edges of the chamber. It goes against every gut instinct he has to fight with the others, but he does as Jirina told him.

 _Stay out of sight. Stay safe._

A part of him is actually grateful when the black mass comes barreling towards him; a chance to fight even if it is only to save his own skin. He took up the Archmage's bow, a much more accessible weapon at the moment when the monster comes upon him. There's a charge of fear in him as the projectile goes right through it, seemingly harmless. He has no choice but to scramble away, accepting that the beast can see him.

Xero pulls back the enchantment, knowing it wouldn't help the boy if his allies weren't able to see him. The Mage Warrior spots Mezzick just as he ducks away from a swipe of the creature's claws. Harv steps between them with a swing of his scythe, sparks flying as the blade strikes the floor mere millimeters from its intended mark. Xero hurls a spell and Clemett unleashes another barrage, all attempts falling short. If Mezzick were any slower he would surely be dead.

The Dargling's dogged pursuit doesn't stop until Stinger pulls a trio of silver daggers from their hiding place in his clothes and throws them just as it comes towards him, anticipating where it would be and praying he was right. The mass coils and shrieks as the blades hold fast to its flesh, the creature still half-trying to reach for the young Org. Its wicked eyes bulge at a sensation it doesn't know: pain.

"It's taking physical form." Xero seems both awestruck and horrified at the idea as he looks down on it. "We need to stop it now, or we may not have another chance."

"Then lets cast the damn spell and be done with this." Jirina's contempt is visible in the deep lines pulling around her mouth.

"That's for us to do, my dear." The Mage Warrior nods. "Although," he pauses, breathes, "I have fear for our ability to succeed if it is only the two of us."

For a split second no one seems to make the connection. Windleaf still lies in the middle of the chamber floor.

Keerg's beard, he hadn't even noticed she wasn't among them as they took the offensive to Hokum. Not once did it occur to him she was out of his sight. Stinger pushes passed Clemett with a sweep of one arm, almost tripping over his own feet trying to reach Windleaf. He feels himself go cold as his mind processes the look of her in the fetal position on the floor. There is no sign of blood or injury, only an obvious lack of... _life_ in her as he gathers her close to him. She looks old enough to be his grandmother.

"Heaven's lad," Xero stands over him, "have we lost her?"

"C'mon, Wind, open your eyes." His whisper is heated, rasping as his throat tightens. He shakes her gently, once, twice, her head coming to rest on his chest. His jaw clenches. "Damn stubborn woman, _wake up_."

Stinger forces himself to let out a breath when a wince comes slowly over her face. As she opens her eyes some of the color comes back to her features, some of the lines smoothing. A pitiful, dry groan works its way out of her, then she looks up at him.

"I...are we dead?"

Stinger almost laughs, though he can't stop a smile from stretching his mouth. "No, but not for a lack of trying. Can you stand?"

"Help me."

She can't stand on her own, back refusing to straighten though she tries and only receives a protesting _crack_.

"It's almost over. We still have to cast the Banishment spell."

Windleaf nods. "Let's do it then, we don't have time to waste. What about the components?"

"Wait a minute," Stinger's arm reaches across, stopping her initial movement, "you can't cast this thing."

"Not by myself," her weary gaze cuts to him, "but I'm sure as hell going to try."

"Not like this. It'll kill you!"

"So be it."

"Wind-,"

"Don't you _dare_ try to take this from me. I made this mess, and I'm going to fix it. Even if it's the _last_ thing I do. Now _move_ , or I will _move you_."

Briefly he couldn't speak, eyes wide and jaw hanging a little. Then he just smirks and shakes his head. He wonders if she's aware of how much she sounds like her old self again. "Have it your way. How can I help?"

"Allow me, lad." Xero takes his fellow mage's arm. "You and the others mind that abomination over there, if you would be so kind."

He nods again, eager to see that thing sent kicking and screaming back into the hole it crawled out of.

Mezzick unfolds the stretch of cloth he keeps around him, smoothing it over the floor to reveal the collection of components for the spell, quickly catching the Orb of the Heavens as it tries to roll away. He puts the urn containing the Essence of Chaos upright, internally shivering at the cold scrape of just having it near him rolling across his skin. The phial containing the Mage King's blood is placed carefully beside the urn, and the incantation itself remains furled up in a scroll that he hands to Xero once he is close enough.

"You best get back." Jirina puts a heavy stone hand on the boy's shoulder, gently pushing against him.

Mezzick just looks up, his attention lingering on her for a moment. He stands, regarding her only a second more before moving away. Jirina sighs, quiet, she knows what's going through his mind. But it just isn't the time to face it, not when they're so close. "What now, Xero?"

He has the scroll unwound and between his hands, bushy brows knitted as his eyes move back and forth, from line to line. "About what you might expect...the incantation is a chant of some kind -so it appears- which should cut off the Darg from our respective worlds entirely. I just,"

"What's wrong?"

"I can't be sure how or _if_ this will work." and his worry is genuine as it draws across his face in thin lines. "This spell was written for _and meant_ _to be cast by_ a Mage King. Not to disrespect either of you ladies or myself, but none of us fall into that particular pedigree."

"We still have to try." Windleaf says firmly. "We don't have a choice."

"For once we agree." Jirina head turns just slightly towards the Archmage. "Lets not waste any more time."

He regards them both in turn for a brief moment, the lines of worry on in his features smoothing. "Very well."

The others watch, hearts -those who have them- pounding, anxious. They pay almost no regard to the creature on the floor now, though it begins to act more violently than ever. Static is building in the air as Xero reads the incantation for the others to start reciting. With each successful repetition something pitches hard, a spike of energy, and the Darg reacts, screeching bloody murder. Its twisting on itself now, wrenching its premature body in ways that would mangle any other living thing. Its eyes bulge, mouth full of teeth oozing foaming saliva at the hideous pain it must be feeling.

Then something pitches again, something _enormous_. It can't be seen as much as it is _felt_.

The Darg feels it at the same time the three mages do. Its body bows into a sharp, impossible angle, its limbs suddenly swelling without any sign of ceasing. Stinger, Harv, Clemett, and Mezzick all step back, unable to look away as the creature continues morphing into something...massive. Windleaf buckles to her knees, Xero and Jirina almost doing the same as the tendrils of magic moving through them solidify and hook into them like talons. Xero almost fumbles the incantation as pain rocks his body.

The thick sheet of ice that Jirina had put over the reflecting pool shatters upward, shards jutting towards the ceiling as something surges from underneath. Bars of light force their way between the pieces, cutting the heavy dimness of the room as it pushes all the way through to form a pillar, breaking through the roof. It remains even as Xero can no longer concentrate and stops reciting the incantation. And the Dargling keeps growing larger and larger.

"What the hell is going on?!" Stinger shouts from across the room, steadily backing away from the now mammoth creature twisting before him. The damn thing doesn't even flinch as he hurls another volley of daggers into its pitch flesh, and completely ignores a barrage of rounds from Clemett's cannon. "I thought that mumbo-jumbo was supposed to get _rid_ of this thing!"

"I don't understand," Xero has to almost scream for his voice to reach over the great roaring of wind now filling the chamber, "everything was as it should be!"

"But it's like you said, old man, _we_ are not Mage Kings!" Jirina helps him to his feet. "It appears we must fight this monster where it lives!"

"You guys over there wanna expedite that plan, eh? This room isn't gonna hold this thing much longer!" The Gadgeteer has never sounded so desperate. The Dargling is still growing, and it doesn't appear to be feeling so much pain anymore.

"You heard the man. Come along, Windleaf, the fight's yet over."

Poor woman's still on her knees. "Help me...I think I threw out my hip."

Jirina grumbles, taking three large strides towards Windleaf to pick her up in an effortless sweep of her arms.

"Aw, I didn't know you cared." the Archmage almost smirks.

"Don't flatter yourself. Lead the way, Xero."

He swallows, for the moment frazzled beyond his ability to comprehend, his mouth hanging open as he pants slightly. His eyes flicker from them to the reflecting pool, to the opening that appears stable but still perilous. His brow furrows as he gathers himself back together. He breaks into a sprint towards the portal, gesturing with his hand for Jirina to follow and match his pace.

"Steel yourselves, this is where our courage matters most!" The Mage Warrior cries out as he jumps into the swallowing blackness.

Stinger watches them disappear over his shoulder, his gut wrenching at their palpable absence. He tears his eyes away, cutlass tighter in his grip than ever as he forces himself to focus on the Dargling again. Its form continues to swell, now almost to the ceiling. Its sprouted a tail and it whips and pitches, threatening to cave in the walls. Its moving towards the balcony at the back of the chamber now, body twisting as it's still an amorphous commingling of flesh and tar. The archway shatters as it wriggles through the opening. The others chase after it, mindful of the new pits and furrowed claw marks wrenched into the marble floor.

()

The air is still, cold, oppressive. Like the eye of a hurricane and quiet as a tomb. They can sense the movement just out of reach, the whipping and clawing of something they couldn't see. There is no notion of light and dark, time and space or gravity, just what is...and the Darg. That is, the very source of it. Its presence ripples all around them, a buzzing static that prickles their skin in a way that is just short of painful. Its endless energy is like a sucking chest wound.

Windleaf can feel where it centralizes, having touched it before, been exposed to it for an extended time. She knows it like a greasy, oozing hand print on the back of her mind. She can almost feel it breathing on her, hot and heavy.

 _YOU ALL WILL DIE HERE. SLOWLY. THEN I WILL TURN ALL OF ARKOSE INSIDE OUT._

A hard, painful shudder rattles her still frail frame.

 _But you will get to watch. You will die last._

Windleaf straightens, body rigid with what little strength she has left to offer. "Show yourself!"

Her cry doesn't echo, not in this darkness. Instead the air in this space rumbles with a terrible, low and droning growl. At last light cuts the stifling blackness in a wash of crimson, a slit of it opening up and splitting apart as a piercing, viperous eye. The pupil pulses and then blows wide with a scraping shriek. Tendrils slither from beneath the peeled back lids of the eye, winding and writhing like agitated parasites. They _reach_ for them, stabbing outward.

"Death to oppression! _Death to the Darg_!" Words Jirina has been waiting far too long to say rip free from her as her hands begin to shimmer with a readying spell.

 _REST ASSURED YOU ALL WILL SPEND THESE LAST FLEETING MOMENTS IN PAIN AND HORROR THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU CANNOT COMPREHEND._

Author's Note: Because I'm dumb, thirsty, and an apparent slave to my muse. Who is a fickle bitch by the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Four**

It keeps growing, now half the size of the entire palace. The platform of the balcony has long since buckled to the Darg's great weight and leaves the behemoth perched on the mountainside like a gargoyle spat out of Hell itself. It crouches there, bellowing and scrambling towards the peak as the tiny human, robot, Gadgeteer, and Org continue an unsteady pursuit.

Clemett breaks away and tries to find a steady vantage. He kneels and hikes his cannon onto his shoulder, refusing to use the little scope on the side of the weapon as he lifts the barrel. He lines up the shot a little ways over the Darg's head, unleashing a few heavy rounds that leave bright red chem trails in the air before they crash into the side of the mountain. The monster reels, shrieking as it staggers back, chunks of stone beginning to tumble towards it. The boulders crash into its feet and ankles, putting it off balance and sending it falling backwards.

The ground shakes -likely all of Wyldern trembles- when the Darg's body strikes the ground, sliding back towards the palace, the smaller beings jumping and scrambling to avoid being pulled under it. Before it can come to a stop they move against it. Harv leaps atop the creature's body, swinging his scythe hard from behind and plunging the curved blade into its body, hooking the weapon on what could only be described as a rib. Pitch black talons come down on him, giving the automaton a split second to react before being crushed. He jumps away, leaving the weapon to be pushed further in by the Darg's haste to be rid of him. Just as the monster realizes how its done more harm to itself than good, it gets a second helping of Clemett's cannon to the face, nearly a dozen rounds. It moves to cover its face, scythe still stuck in its chest.

Both Harv and Mezzick jump onto the Darg and grab the stock of the weapon, not pulling it out but pulling it downward, one great heave from them enough to slice through the bone and tear open a great hole. They were expecting blood to come spurting out, as it would with anything even resembling a living thing, but that isn't the case. Something else bursts out of the wound, something sentient and with thrashing limbs. It happens again as Stinger takes his cutlass to the monster's wrist with everything he has, one hard swing to sever the limb, and the stump opens wide into a mouth full of needle-like teeth that lunges after him.

This is how it intended to spread, to consume everything until _it_ was all that remained. Like a hydra; cut away one head and two more sprout forth. A tainted cradle full of blighted seeds.

The Darg's skin solidifies into the most flesh like substance yet, the wound in its chest closing over whatever is trying to wriggle out. It begins moving to right itself, on hands and knees crawling towards the top of the mountain again. Stinger spits an oath as he goes after it, taking a running start before leaping forward to snatch hold of the end of its tail. Before he starts slipping he plunges the cutlass as deep as it can go for the extra leverage it might give him. The others are quick to follow suit, or to try at least.

()

Within the black aether the maelstrom grows, the source of the Darg pitching and teeming in its realm as it tries to decimate those that dare attack it where it lives. Where it reigns _supreme_. With all its unbridled rage it lashes out at them, able to snatch up the weakest of the three with one of its slick black tendrils. It starts pulling what little mana the aged Archmage has in her, only consuming a little before that damned Undrashi bastard cuts through the limb with a glowing scimitar.

That sensation, that _horrible sensation_! What is it?!

There it is again when the she-Org hurls a ball of burning light at its eye, sparks searing the manifestation with a resounding, corrosive hiss. She is much too spry for it to grab, so the Darg summons but a small burst of its incredible power to fill the space in a swath of bitter cold, shards of ice cutting through the air in a downward cyclone. It likes watching them struggle against it, to watch them twist at the pain, it's beautiful. But the beauty is short lived as the Mage Warrior doubles back with golden light and magic swirling all around him. It can't withhold a shriek of dismay at the sight of the golden light coalescing and separating into four separate accumulations, each morphing into a shape resembling a human. They take on the visage of a past Mage Kings, noble and powerful, those horrid creatures that had once tried and failed to snuff it out. Failed by only a breath's width of a margin.

With a sweep of the scimitar the summoned spirits come upon it, and with them a visitation to a half-millennium old horror and _pain_ it has never been able to fully forget. Its frantic shrieking fills the aether, a shrill and shattering cry. The sound morphs between fear and agony as it feels the spiking energy of another conjuring, its bulging eye sliding in the slimy socket to focus on something else that has materialized in its realm. A great wyrm of fire and light coils upwards and swells from the Arhcmage's raised hand, jaws snapping and amber eyes ablaze. It lunges for the Darg without warning, bringing with it the horrid sensation of being ripped apart by red hot talons. Then, before it can even comprehend it all, the she-Org follows suit with a barrage of arching light, heavy bolts of raw energy raining from above.

 _The pain...THE PAIN. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW._

"It's faltering!" Xero's voice is now full of confidence, sensing the creatures exposure. "Keep pressing, we can finish this!"

 _FOOLS. I WILL SUNDER YOUR SOULS INTO OBLIVION._

Windleaf feels her insides lurch with a hard jerk, like something trying to turn her inside out. Her concentration disintegrates as the pain spikes and her body tucks inward, arms folding over her stomach, mind white washed by a fresh horror of feeling something _moving_ beneath her skin. There's the burning wetness of hot tar against her forearms and she finds them dripping with pitch as she pulls them away. The hot stickiness spreads, beginning to fall from her eyes and leave an acrid bitterness in her mouth. What is happening?!

 _YOU WILL SERVE ME, ARCHMAGE. SLAY THEM OR PERISH._

A devil's bargain at best, not that she would ever take it. She will die either way, though she thinks it better to do so with a clear conscience. Over the roaring of pounding blood and swirling air in her ears she can just make out Xero, certain he's calling to her. Even if he isn't, she responds.

"Destroy it! Give it everything you have!" she cries, and does her best to focus through the horrible twisting working on her insides to keep fighting. But when she tries to conjure again, she feels the distinct crackle of mana turning against her.

 _DO AS I SAY._

She knows too well where this is going; she wouldn't be able to act unless she did so against her allies. Otherwise the Darg is going to immolate her with her own magic. The threat of it bubbles under her skin, like acid in her veins. But she isn't going to give in this time. Regardless of the cost, she will not betray them twice. She spends the last drops on her mana on a healing spell, trying to brace herself for whatever would come next, but it also leaves herself powerless to further harm the Darg.

 _YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN THE LAST. NOW YOU SHALL BE THE FIRST. YOUR DEATH WILL BE SLOW. A CENTURY OF AGONY._

The pain spikes, almost blinding.

()

The monster perches atop the mountain now, having sprouted four incredible, leathery wings that drip with black slime that eats away at the stone below. Its shadow cuts the entire realm in half.

Stinger tries to catch his breath, stuck on his butt for the moment with his chest heaving and sweat rolling down his mud and blood streaked face. Thank goodness his legs are spread apart as a glob of that black ooze the size of a small dog splashes onto the ground in front of him.

"You all right, slim?" the Gadgeteer pokes his head out from behind a large bolder.

"Y-yeah, just fine." it's a terrible lie. "Can you see the others?"

Clemett jumps over the rock and lands beside him, staying low and out of sight. "Last I could tell, they're still alive."

Stinger nods, swallowing hard. "How the hell are we supposed to beat this thing?"

"To be honest, captain, I think we're more meant to keep it from beating _us_. Just buying the others time, if you catch my drift."

Now his head shakes, rocking back and forth against the rock. "To be honest, I dunno if I've got any spare gold left in my pocket."

"Then we just need to shake that fancy coat of yours a little harder. C'mon," he reaches into one of his many pouches and pulls out a glass phial, passing it to Stinger. "Just once more."

Feeling as though it's against his better judgment, he nods again and takes the phial. He empties it with one hard tip of his chin, clearing his throat as its contents settle in his stomach. With a sharp crackle of pain up his spine he forces himself to his feet, cutlass still in one hand as he peers around the rock.

The Darg had left its tracks along the side of the mountain, almost smooth platforms that could be easily navigated to the top. He spots Mezzick doing just that, moving from track to track in an untraceable manner. Anything to keep the monster above them from being able to faithfully focus on him. Its wings snap outward, straight and rigid, flinging globs of that pitch ooze into the air. Stinger thinks this as good a time as any to advance, watching the ground as well as the sky as he works towards the first platform. He feels some of the slime just miss his face, hissing in his ear as he jumps aside.

A silvery glint at the corner of his eye draws him to Harv. Even from here he can see that chrome body covered in small and large pock marks, the corrosive goo having touched him. Still the harvester is up and running so he files his worries to the back of his mind where they belong. Hopefully there will be time to repair him later -hopefully there _is a later_.

One more push, he chants to himself, jaw tight as he draws closer to the Darg. Just one more push.

()

The metaphysical Darg has thrown a barrier around itself, the magic wall flashing bright violet whenever something strikes it. But it won't hold much longer. It's vulnerable now. The wild red eye trembles, searches madly in the dark for...who knows. It's afraid.

Xero can feel the Darg's weakness. But it comes perilously close to matching his own. He must hold his scimitar in both hands, just able to stay upright and appear steadfast. If he didn't have to worry over the barrier, he would have erased the devilish thing by now with what little mana he has left.

"We must end this _now_ , Xero! We will not get another chance." Jirina calls to him.

"Not while it walls itself in."

"Then we must bring it down."

"How? All of my spells have been thrown back at me thanks to that bloody thing!"

"Then we stop using _spells_!" Jirina throws herself at the Darg and its pulsating wall. Like the magic she bounces back, but she redoubles her efforts and attacks again. She pounds the barrier with heavy fists, hooking her fingers like claws as if to take hold of it and tear it down.

 _NO, STOP. STOP IT. ORGISH FILTH. I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE._

"Then _do it_!" she dares. "I will still fight you, even when all that remains of me is _bones_!" She feels the sudden, lancing pain of talons in her skin, invisible hooks pulling at her, but she presses on. She will bring this damned wall down if its the last thing she will ever do.

Pinpoints of light start hanging in the air, blossoms that spread wide and burst into angled spiderwebs as the barrier begins to crack. This spurs Jirina on, forcing her to hit harder, again and again until it finally caves into a yawning hole. It sputters, flickering, then dissolves into a veil of dying embers.

" _Now, Xero_!"

The last of his mana comes spilling out of his hand in the form of a rapid, arching violet light.

()

A heavy round from Clemett's cannon strikes the Darg soundly in the chest, the earth shaking with its impact. It shrieks, clutching at its body, its own claws sinking into its flesh. It starts tearing away at itself, losing its balance as its body flails beyond its control. The sucking chest wound is tearing wider, seemingly on its own, and ooze and the remains of countless creatures that were living within it come spilling out. The Darg topples on its side, starting to slide down the mountain for the last time.

They run. There is no other choice but to run. Clemett snatches the young Org about the waist with one arm as he passes, thinking it faster just to carry him. The four of them make it to the bottom, scrambling back inside the palace with a frantic hope that it won't come down around them when the creature finally comes to a stop. It comes terribly close, mind you.

It crushes the outer wall of the throne room, pushes it inward with enough force to bring it all the way down. Being a circular chamber, the remaining portions of the wall lurch forward, a jagged seam forming as it is pushed back several forceful inches. The lot of them huddle together in the entryway, the most stable place, those of them that can praying that they haven't come so far only to be smothered to death.

In through the great opening of the wall comes a rushing torrent of black water. The more that spills out of the creature the smaller it becomes. Shrinking like a leaky water skin until it completely disappears, disintegrated. There are things in the water, just as there had been things writhing inside the creature. Some of them move about, the last throws of something dying, the rest are still debris.

Then there is the distinct, echoing sound of someone gagging.

Up out of the filth rises a human form covered in black grime. On hands and knees they shuffle about, looking for something they cannot see. "Blast it all," they spit, "horrid bastard had to have the last - _pfft-_ laugh!"

Stinger jumps to his feet, everything now still enough for him to no longer fear being crushed. "Xero!"

The Mage Warrior rubs his face, hoping to clear some of the slime from his eyes. "That you, lad? You made it after all?"

The good captain runs to him, mindful not to slip as he tries to help his friend stand up. "By the skin of our teeth, we did! How about you, old man, you still in one piece?"

"So to speak," he spits again, flinging much from his hands. "Although, were I not, I could surely adhere myself back together with all this _refuse_!"

"And the others?"

His bright purple eyes blink wildly for a moment, then he starts to turn his head this way and that. "I...they were here..."

"We're here!" Jirina manages herself out of the mire, arms occupied with a body. Her stone feet have little traction on the slick marble, but thankfully she doesn't fall. She sees the look on the human's face and continues with "She lives, though she is weak. We need to get her as far from this place as soon as possible."

Stinger's heart falls into his boots at the sight Windleaf unconscious in Jirnia's arms. Some of the age has faded from her face, but he sees the blackened traces of the Darg's magic on her. He can't find any words, so he silently offers to take her.

"How far is the nearest friendly town?"

"On the other side of the mountains, it would takes us days to reach it from here. Which is time I don't believe we have. I doubt she would make the journey, in any case." Jirina shakes her head. "Where ever we go, it must simply be _else_ where."

"I daresay she is likely right." Xero agrees. "I doubt lingering about this mess would do us any favors."

Stinger searches his mind. "Nagruk's camp. It's empty."

"And still in one piece." Clemett adds. "Should be a fine place to hunker down once we sweep a few bodies under the rug." Personally, he thinks it's a great joke, but no one laughs. So neither does he. "Let's just mosey then, eh?"

The hours it takes to reach the camp drag on, the lot of them so tired now. Thankfully they encounter no trouble, no linger splinters of Darglings. Perhaps they all dropped dead, or better, the essence of the madness left them as they once were. Who was to know? The place is still, quiet, just as they had left it with bodies still littering the ground where they fell. They go unnoticed for now, perhaps to be piled up and incinerated at a later date. They make their way inside after knocking down a locked door.

Most of them take one corridor, looking for the barracks, while the Orgs and Xero take the other, convinced they could smell traces of food. Stinger won't admit that his stomach is almost in cramps he's so hungry because he's far more worried. Windleaf hasn't moved at all, save for the slightest rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

"Over here, captain." Clemett waves his gloved hand after sticking his head in and out of a door.

Inside the walls are lined with bunk beds and hammocks, some made, some an absolute mess. Stinger finds the closest one that isn't a wreck and sets Windleaf down, finally relieving his back and shoulders of her usually manageable weight. He's so tired, his mind accepts it, and it takes everything he has not to just drop into a dead sleep in the middle of the floor.

"Just take it easy," the Gadgeteer urges him, "you look like hot crap. Get a few winks while I patch up the harvester, okay?"

He has no means to argue, fatigue running through him now and making his limbs shake. "Be careful." is all he can say as he shakes his head, dragging his feet in pursuit of a bed. He winces out of his coat after Clemett and Harv have gone, standing only a moment longer to drape it over the comatose Archmage before flopping heavily onto his sore backside.

Stinger will get a solid hour of rock bottom sleep before he's rudely awakened by the thump-and-screech of something kicking the leg of his bunk hard enough for the wooden legs to scoot on the stone floor. His hair is in his face, his hand swatting it away as he jerks into a half-sitting position.

"What's wrong?" he can only imagine the worst. Slumber blurred vision focuses on the she-Org

"Here. Eat." Jirina passes him a wooden plate and a metal cup of cool water.

He takes them with a nod, clearing his throat before he speaks. "Thank you. Any trouble yet?"

"It's quiet still."

"How's the kid holding up?" He sets the cup at his feet after an initial sip.

"He will sleep soon as well, I think." she nods slowly, crossing her arms. "The mechanic tells me he fought well...he's earned the rest."

"Boy's a hellion." Stinger laughs a little, trying not to choke on the small bite he has taken. "He'll be something else when he gets older."

"I'm pleased that he actually has that chance now."

Stinger can't see it, but he can almost sense her brow furrowing beneath the metal visor. "So what is next for you? What will you do?"

"I," she pauses, mouth half forming the next word, "do not know for certain. It's been...nearly twenty years since Wyldern was last free...I honestly did not think I would live to see it."

Now he senses her discomfort. "Well...thanks for the grub. Maybe you should rest a while yourself."

"I'm not as fragile as you humans." she counters almost gently. Strange.

He chuckles. "You've made that abundantly clear."

"Indeed." A sharp nod. "There is more food if that is not enough to satisfy you. And be sure to let us know if she wakes," Jirina tilts her head, "she will need to eat."

"Of course." he watches her make for the door. "Jirina,"

"Hm?"

He's almost surprised that she actually stopped. "Thank you."

"There's no need."

"No, I mean...you didn't have to. You could have let her die or killed her yourself and no one would have been able to stop you." He can feel her scowling again and sees traces of it in firm lines forming around her mouth.

"I know. But don't bother thanking me." the tightness in her jaw is audible. "I didn't do it for your sake." and then she went on her way.

He had expected an answer like that, actually. In all honesty, however, he hadn't expected it to come so civilly. He was expecting to be missing a few teeth.

Stinger finishes the small meal and the water only to lie back down and fall back to sleep with no effort.

()

The mess hall is typical. A dozen long, roughly hewn stone tables are lined from wall to wall, wooden benches situated beneath them. There is the faint smell of something cooking, something Jirina faintly recognizes. She spots Mezzick at the end of one stretch of tables, hunched over with his head down, tucked within his folded arms. Fast asleep, as she predicted. She passes him on her way to the kitchen, picking up his empty plate.

"I never had you pegged as the domestic sort."

"Eh?" Xero twists his head around, looking away from a boiling stock pot, spotting the she-Org entering the kitchen. "Oh, well, as a member of the Undrashi royal court, I was in need of many such talents." he laughs a little. "Though I will admit I'm at somewhat of a loss with most of these ingredients."

"You're doing fine, old man." she smirks when he looks away. "Where is the mechanic?"

"Still repairing Harv, I would imagine." he can hear her moving about the room. "Looking for something?"

"Yes." Wooden barrels file along the wall and she pops the lid off of each of them to peer inside. Finally she reaches into one. "Sweet Orgran, thank you."

"Oh? What have you found?" He watches as she reaches shoulder deep into one of the barrels, pulling out a handful of small, blue capped mushrooms that she piles on the plate in her other hand.

"I haven't had these in fifteen years." she takes a few between her fingers and puts them in her mouth.

"That rare, eh?"

She finishes chewing and swallows. "Somewhat. They only grow in a few places."

"I see."

"Might I have some of that stew as well?"

"Of course."

"What's in it?" she pauses briefly to ask, having snatched a large bowl from the counter.

"Perhaps you can tell me." and he laughs.

"Well...at the very least it _smells_ edible." Not willing to bother with a ladle she dips the bowl in the pot to fill it almost to the brim, catching what droplets fall away in her mouth as she goes to the nearest table. She snatches a spoon that was already there, within arm's reach, and takes a few hasty samples of the soup. A nod of approval just as she dumps the lot of blue mushrooms into the bowl.

"I can't recall ever having seen you this hungry." Xero laughs a little, sitting across from her with a smaller bowl in his hands.

"I can barely recall having food this good. For Darglings, I'm impressed."

For a moment he says nothing else, just watching her shovel it down as fast as she can without choking. It almost makes his stomach lurch, especially the loud slurp as she drinks the last of it.

"Goodness." is all he can manage, brows uneven and the edge of his mouth kinked downward.

A satisfied growl and a ginger pat of her stomach. "Seconds." she decides with a curt tip of her chin. Jirina fetches another bowlful as well as more mushrooms and returns to her seat for a repeat performance.

"Sweet saints, girl, did you even taste it?"

She almost smiles, evidence of it trying to upturn the corners of her mouth. "That's why I couldn't stop."

He laughs a little and finally gives himself leave to eat. Wyldernian food isn't something he is familiar with, but finds something about the earthiness he likes. The soup is full of cubed roots and bits of meat, neither of which he knows the origin of. Still he eats.

"I thought you didn't have to?"

"Hm?" brows lift. "I don't, but I enjoy it every so often. It's more of a comfort of sorts." with a partially artificial body he had no need for many typically human things. Not to say he still didn't appreciate them. "It's been a long day."

"Indeed."

"Now all I need is some mila tea and I would be quite happy."

As he eats quietly his eyes slip away from his food and to the Org-Ta across from him. She simply sits still, seemingly relaxed but with a sort of muffled tension. Not a single stray movement. She was thinking about something.

"Mayhaps it's just me,"

"Hm?"

"Something wrong?"

Jirina doesn't respond quickly, which only lends a certain validation to his question. Her stone fingers fold together in front of her, resting together against her chin. "No."

One snowy brow spikes. "Come now."

Were it not for the visor, he would have seen how her brow bunches in the middle, her eyes closing as a shrug works through her. "I am...disappointed."

"Oh? How so?"

"I wanted to kill him." she admits, tone plain. "I wanted to end his life with these hands. Make him swallow what he forced on me."

Empathy comes over his features, a mild sadness in his violet eyes. In this moment he realizes it wasn't all about vengeance for her. In part, no matter how small, she was seeking closure. Something - _anything_ \- to soothe some of the horrific pain she had endured. And not just as the result of Windleaf's treachery, but at Hokum's tyranny that had begun when she was but a small girl. Jirina's home, family, innocence, and for a time her sense of self, had all been snatch away. Yet all she had wanted in the end was to hand down that bastard's death sentence which he so richly deserved.

"I'm sorry, Jirina."

"As am I." she frowns behind her hands. "But I suppose that's just the nature of things. Nothing to be done about it."

But oh how he wishes there was.

()

Stinger doesn't know how long he sleeps this time, though it's long enough for him to rouse himself with next to no trouble. A few more hours at best. He grunts with a big stretch, a few joints popping to his satisfaction. Soreness still lingers, but he's rested and can handle it better. He stands up, cringing only a little before he moves quietly to the other side of the bunk across from his. He kneels down, tugging his coat a little higher to lay over her shoulder. Brow furrowed, he pushes a few stray strands of white hair away from her face.

"Grover,"

His blond brows jump at the muffled sound of his birth name. "Wind? You with me?"

"Where are we?"

He takes a breath, relief surging through him as he exhales. "We're safe, don't worry."

"What happened?" the last thing she remembers is the screams of the Darg echoing through her mind like nails on a blackboard.

"The palace is trashed, but..we did it. We beat it."

She exhales, eyes opening and focusing on him. "Thank goodness. What about-,"

He smiles. "The others are fine. A little busted up, sure, but we've been through worse. Once we've rested up we'll start thinking of a way back home."

"Cartoff. It's the only other way out." a slow blink, like it's a serious effort. "I can't...I don't think I can conjure anymore."

"You're just worn out. Give it a day or two and I bet you'll even be bossing me around again."

"No...I think my magic is gone." her eyes close, tight lines forming as she sucks down a sudden urge to cry. She feels an emptiness where that almost endless wellspring of power had been, it _hurts_.

He tenses, quietly stunned. His mouth hangs, working without the formation of words. Stinger gives up on it and instead shakes the leather gloves from his hands, letting one rest carefully against her cheek. His body stiffens again when a set of her fingers curls snug to his wrist.

"What am I going to do?" she whimpers, almost too quiet to hear.

He takes a breath. "For now...just take it easy. Sleep...as much as you can stand. We can worry about all of that later. There'll be time for it." A slow nod, as if having convinced himself to do the same. "You hungry?"

"No." she answers after a hard swallow.

"You should try to eat something."

"Not now. Doubt I'd keep it down." she protests again. "I feel terrible."

"Well...if it's any consolation, you look better."

"Oh?" a pitiful. "Must not look a day over seventy for you to say that."

"I'm not pulling your leg, Wind, you're looking a lot more like yourself." he smirks a little, nodding. But the expression fails after only second. "Why didn't you tell me what would happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whatever it was that turned you gray...you knew about it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"It wouldn't have changed anything. I just would have had to stomach you bitching at me not to go. We didn't have time and I didn't have the patience."

"But-," he stops when she shakes her head, pale strands twisting against the pillow. "You really haven't changed all that much, have you?"

"Suppose I haven't." she almost laughs, but yawns instead. "I'm sorry."

"No need, you must be exhausted. I should let you rest." he shifts to stand up, pausing when he feels her grip tighten.

"Stay a little longer."

()

Wyldern in strangely quiet over the following few days. There are no riots or commotion from splintered cells of Darglings. It's as if the entire land has gone to sleep. The old council building is empty as the lot of them pass through, not a trace of anyone or anything aside from bodies and crushed Vrita eggs. They take the road to Big Mesa, once a stone monument that had been the carved visage of the first Orgish emperor, now long since defaced to depict Hokum. As they ascend the roughly hewn trail to the top of it, Jirina quietly swears to tear the hideous thing down at the first opportunity.

They find the cavern entrance unattended, though there's evidence of someone having been here once. Discarded weapons and cookware. Whoever had been guarding the place must have left. Maybe gone home if they were lucky.

No trouble as they navigate the long passage to the surface, the cavern's mouth at the peak of South Cartoff Island. The bright crimson glow of late afternoon greets them as they emerge from the darkness. There is a resounding sense of relief among them, those that can feel such things.

"I'll radio Eyre, see when they can come grab us up." Clemett is fishing through his pouches and pockets. He starts wandering around the stone cap of the island looking for decent reception.

"I have to get back to the academy." Windleaf pushes a set of fingers through her hair, leaning against the stone. "Keerg only knows what's going on there now."

"You'll probably have some damage control to do, no doubt." Stinger crosses his arms, nodding. "I'll go with you if you want."

"I might need you to." she sighs. The Archmage is still so tired.

"I am to return to Metaboline then?" Harv whirrs.

"Probably best, let the queen know we're still alive."

The harvester adjusts his hat. "Will you be staying at the academy for long?"

Blond brows jump.

"That I might tell the queen whether or not to expect you. As well as your crew."

"Oh, um," he clears his throat behind his fist, "might stay a few days, yeah. After that I'll head to Karillon and pass on the good news. The Gadgeteers can pick me up there."

"Very well. Contact us as soon as you are able."

"Of course." Stinger rubs the back of his neck, shifting to face a different way. "Hey, Jirina?"

"Hm?" her reaction is quick.

"Will you be staying with us or...?"

"I have to go back. There's far too much work that needs to be done now for me to linger up here." Mezzick is just beside her, her little shadow, and he nods in silent concurrence.

"I would join you, if you would have me." Xero offers, though it seems like he doesn't want to appear too eager.

"What for?"

"Just an extra pair of hands, that's all." he shakes his head, one hand gesturing with no real intent.

"Actually, Xero, I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind coming to the academy with me." Windleaf speaks up.

"Oh?"

"I wanted you to take a look at the Etherwell. If there's anything...off about it, I imagine you would know."

"Hmm," he looks down, staring at his boots briefly, "perhaps. I'll consider it."

"All right folks," Clemett raises his voice, coming back to the group, "we've got the better part of two hours before Eyre arrives. Feel free to lay back, twiddle your thumbs, or whatever else trips your trigger to pass the time."

Author's Note: Still not quite sure what I'm trying to accomplish here. Maybe just something for myself, convince myself I'm not a hack or a washout. Just need a little happiness, I guess. And writing makes me happy. Hope it makes you all happy too.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Five**

Igraine Anari is a blue Org Navigator just blooming into her mid twenties. She came to the magic academy when she was five, brought there by human parents who noticed her obvious affinities. After Hokum took over the academy, effectively turning the place on its head, he gave her special attention in the form of making her Windleaf's sole apprentice. He knew with just the right _push_ she would make an amazing soldier for him, alongside all of the other students.

She remains the Archmage's apprentice still, sitting across her mentor in a private study. She is the only one Windleaf ever trusted with the school while she ran her numerous errands, sometimes disappearing for days at a time. And for the time being, she is the only one trusted with the information that Hokum is dead.

"Oh my." she breathes. "I...um...really?"

Windleaf nods.

"W-what happened? I mean," she stutters, eyes searching the room, "what are we going to do now?"

Windleaf shifts in her chair, pulling a woven shawl that much tighter to her shoulders. Body still withered from her old master's magic, she can't shake a lingering chill. "We'll inform the other students and staff, for starters."

Igraine nods. "Y-you know, it's funny...I almost _felt it_. You know...when he died. Something about this place...it's different now."

"I know." Windleaf almost smiles. "Has anyone been in the Etherwell chamber since?"

"No, ma'am." the blue Org shakes her head decidedly. "Not even me. T-to be honest...I'm too scared to."

"That's fair. But will you come with me?"

"Ah-um," her hands wring together in her lap, "of course I will. C-can I ask why?"

Windleaf's eyes break away from hers. "Just to see what's become of it." she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

"I see. Um...ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"If it's not too personal...um...who is that man? Do you know him?"

"Hm? Stinger?"

"...That's actually his name? Really? He seems terribly -oh, how do they say it-...sketch?"

Windleaf laughs. "He's a good friend of mine, I've known him for years. I assure you, he's trustworthy."

"Oh, well, pardon my suspicion then. I apologize."

"It's fine, he gets that a lot." now that she thinks about it. "I believe he'll be staying with us a few days, so maybe you'll get a chance to get acquainted. But that's for later. Come with me."

They meet with Stinger in the atrium and the three start down the spiral walkway that winds downward through the entire academy. Igraine leads the way with the Archmage and her guest just a step or two behind, Windleaf's arm tucked around his.

"Thank you for coming with me." she says quietly.

"Sure." a curt nod. "But I can't help but feel like you wish Xero had come."

"You're right." she admits, her gaze lowering. "Though I understand why he didn't. Jirina is going to need all the help she can get...more so than I do."

"To say the least. I imagine you would have gone too if you could."

"It would be the least I could do. Still...I have things to take care of too. I appreciate your help."

"I wasn't about to make you do this alone...whatever it is that you need to do. What's all this about anyway?"

"After he took over, Hokum turned the Etherwell into a sort of portal. The Darg could project its influence through it directly. That's why it spread so quickly."

"I see. So...you're hoping maybe it's back to normal?"

" _Hoping_...yeah."

"What if it's still messed up?" he looks at her briefly, searching her face for something readable. All he can find is thinly veiled anxiety.

"Then I need to find a way to fix it...or close it if we have to." In the back of her mind she prays the latter won't be necessary.

"And if everything is okay?"

"Well," she has to think a moment, "who knows. We'll just have to wait and see."

The Etherwell has always been kept behind a set of warded wood and wrought iron doors, though the spells woven into the wards have changed time and again throughout the ages. Igraine begins to undo the sigils without a second thought, which Windleaf is thankful for since she has yet to tell her apprentice that her powers are gone. The twin doors ease open on their own with a flash of silver light and Windleaf braces herself for the frigid burst of air she knows waits on the other side.

But it never comes.

Once the Darg had found its way into the well, the place had grown cold. The plants and flowers that grew around the font of wild energy withered and died to leave stripped, compacted earth that hardened without any greenery to cover it. But the chill was gone now, in fact there was little change in the air between the rooms. Igraine's features light up, her hands covering up her smile as tears glisten in the corners of her eyes.

"Oh," she gasps, "it's... _look_ at it!"

Windleaf feels relief wash over her in a warm exhale. Some of the walls are spotted with green moss, bright colored sprouts litter the floor like patches torn from a blanket. The skeletal remains of what had once been ivy looked alive again, endeavoring to blossom. The well itself pulses and shimmers with a brilliant white light, a glow the Archmage fondly remembers from her first encounter with it. It's a living thing in its own peculiar way, and it celebrates its life with boundless energy.

"Isn't it something." Stinger half smiles, his features otherwise stretched in mild awe. He had only ever seen it once before, yet seeing it now was somehow more impressive.

"It is. Stinger?"

"Hm?"

"Would you help Igraine gather the other students and staff? Have them meet down here please?"

"Of course." he nods, then his features turn a little. "Just want a moment, huh?"

"Yeah, I do. Thanks."

"Anytime."

Windleaf watches the two of them leave, waits until they're out of sight before turning to face the well. Her steps towards its carved marble rim are slow, contemplative. There is an apprehension, like seeing an old friend after many years apart, wondering how much the two of you have changed. She feels the light of it wash over her when she comes close enough, feels the bristle of its power against her skin. Carefully she kneels, settling beside the opening and taking the chance to reach out to it. Her hands smooth over the surface, heart racing as she waits for some sort of reaction.

There is a burst of light, a bright flash that leaves behind a veil of bright orbs of light that float upwards and dance about the room. Some melt against her skin like snowflakes, raising goosebumps with the painless snap of static. Its energy permeates her, warms her to the marrow of her bones, a sense of welcome she hasn't felt in _so long_.

Like it forgives her.

 _(II)_

Pay's Hom is where Hokum first touched Wyldern. No one knows how he got there, only that he arrived and that was the moment when everything began to change. As a display of his power, to make sure everyone was _paying attention_ , he gathered a collection of both young and old, men and women and children, and set them on fire in the middle of the town. He struck down anyone and everyone that tried to stop him with but a flick of his wrist. Even after that the resistance he would meet was meager. Wyldern practically gave itself away.

Jirina was born and raised here, the eldest daughter of a hexite miner and his wife. She stands in her family home now, within the dark confines of the stone house she used to inhabit, and she can almost feel the echoes of those lost years. She is the only one left, the sole heir of the Jirin clan, and _this_ is her inheritance: an empty home and a ravaged homeland.

"Doesn't seem so bad," Xero steps in quietly, blinking as it is so dark inside, "you could salvage it with little trouble."

Jirina doesn't respond, still caught up in looking the place over.

"More people have arrived," he continues, "houses are becoming homes again. This is good news, yes?"

"Hmm."

"Maybe there's hope for the Banori, then? Perhaps they simply fled?"

"Perhaps."

He chances to look at her, hands behind his back as he leans. "I'm sorry...should I go?"

"I just want another moment."

"Of course. My apologies."

His absence is tangible, the weight of isolation settling on her shoulders again. She processes his words as she moves around the house, going from room to room, hand brushing against the walls, stone to stone. It _is_ good that more are returning, Pay's Hom deserves to be a thriving village again. All of Wyldern deserves a second chance.

She steps outside and closes the door behind her, using a small spell to lock it.

"I didn't mean to intrude." Xero apologizes again when he realizes she's there. He begins to follow her as she walks by.

"It's all right." she shakes her head. "So how many are there now?"

"Nearly fifty, I believe."

"That's a good sign."

"You don't sound very pleased."

"It isn't that I'm not pleased," in fact it is the most hopeful she has been in some time, "I'm merely concerned."

"About?"

"The mine will have to be reopened."

"Ah, I see." Now _he_ begins to fret the prospect. The Orgs -Jirina included- had been forced to slave in the mines since Hokum had taken over. How on earth could they be expected to willingly go back to that?

"But the hexite needs to start moving again, otherwise we'll simply stagnate."

"Indeed. Although, if I might make a suggestion,"

"I'm listening."

"Perhaps focusing on farming for now would help smooth things over, get people accustomed to working for themselves again. Not to mention the ever-so-crucial detail that all of them will need to eat."

"Of course. It could work." she takes a deep breath and exhales. "There's so much to do."

"But you're not alone. That should count for something." he chances a small smile.

"We shall see."

Jirina's first priority is making sure the newest refugees have a place to stay. The spacious center of town had once been the marketplace, the level ground optimum for putting up tents and other temporary shelters while homes are repaired and made liveable again. Quarters are tight for the time being, the idea floating around at perhaps opening a portion of the hexite mine to house more if necessary.

Food is quickly becoming a concern. Even if every single one of them begins cultivating the most basic staples, it will takes weeks for any of it to be harvest ready. What few provisions they have at present wouldn't last long enough, especially if more and more people arrive.

Jirina and Xero gather all the adults in the old sanctuary together to discuss the issues. A quick consensus is found in the organization of hunting and gathering parties to be sent out. Even the subject of working the hexite again is greeted with only minimal resistance, but they resign to discuss it in greater detail at a later date. The arguments begin at the idea of sending out scouts to make contact with the other towns and settlements.

"We need our able bodies _here_." shouts someone in the throng of people.

"Yeah, who's going to protect us? Many of us here are too old or too young to fight!" protests another.

"We have to spread the news of Hokum's defeat _as well_ as seek aid from anyone else still out there. If we isolate ourselves now, we will not survive." Jirina is simply stating the facts. No politics, no persuasion, just the nature of the situation. "We will only need a small band to start out towards Michi and continue on to the Toparri Groves."

"To _hell_ with the Toparri! They left us here to rot!" there is even a raised fist to go alongside the angry shout. And it's a statement many of the other Orgs share, heads nodding.

"Surely they will help us now that the fighting is over." Jirina counters. "We _must_ work together. We have _no_ other choice. There will be plenty of time for you all to hate each other _after_ we have reclaimed our home." She waits, expecting further protest. She scans the room, body almost tight and ready to stand against the next argument. But it never comes. "Who will go with me?"

Xero takes a short step to stand just behind her, whispering, "If you go, who will manage things here?"

"You will."

"Excuse me?"

"You came to help, didn't you? So help you shall. Don't worry, Mezzick will stay to keep you out of trouble."

"Why not send _me_?"

"Because no one would trust you. Even with your Org-Ta runes, they wouldn't give you a passing glance."

"Fair enough."

Volunteers eventually give themselves up to the cause. The next morning nearly half a dozen souls set out for Michi Village to the north.

Over the next month Xero discovers just how right Jirina is. The Orgs rarely acknowledge him, and only give passing responses to anything he says. It leaves him terribly vexed and feeling quite helpless. Even worse there's very little Mezzick can do to ease the situation. He finds little respect among the Orgs due to his young age, and they regard Xero as they do because he's human. What Hokum had once been.

"Give it time." the young boy says in the end as he stands with the Mage Warrior. "They need to be sure you're here to help."

"I suppose." Xero shrugs, snowy brows tightening. "I still believe it would have been better for me to go with her."

A little smirk. "She has her reasons. Perhaps she needed some reassurance about you as well."

"How could she possibly doubt me?"

"She doubts _everyone_."

"Not you."

"Because we are so much alike." he nods. "Perhaps I should say she doubts anyone that isn't _her_. I wouldn't take it personally."

"That's a fair observation, my boy. I dare say you might be on to something."

"Although, if it helps," he pauses a moment, perhaps looking for the right words, "she trusts you more than most."

Xero feels a little prick in his artificial heart. "You believe so?"

"I know so. She hasn't said as much, but she doesn't have to. She wouldn't have given you this task if she didn't."

"Well," he smiles to himself, "that is somewhat comforting. Though, I admit, it doesn't much help our...rather precarious situation."

"As I said, it will take time."

"Is there something I can do to..."

Mezzick only shakes his head.

Jirina will return with nearly fifty more people, Orgs as well as Banori, and a host of Toparri with armloads of supplies and equipment. Xero found himself greatly impressed by the results, considering how little of the diplomatic sort she has a reputation of being.

The morale seems to steadily grow from here in spite of a minor tension between the three groups. The Banori have never trusted anyone, even before Hokum's take over they were of the mind to keep to themselves and viciously guard their territory. However their population was decimated to the dozens over the course of the last decade. They have no choice but to offer and accept aid at the gentle encouragement of their old king, Dashau. Thankfully Jirina and Xero have history with the Banori leader, which served to smooth relations considerably.

As predicted the Toparri were eagerly generous, be it in man power or material goods. They would help with the gathering and rebuilding, even using their close connection with the natural forces of Wyldern to help the seeds in the gardens begin to sprout, taking weeks off of the process. And while they would not hunt or fish with the others -it was against their philosophy of all life being sacred- they would mind the children of those who did.

At this rate, Pay's Hom will be able to support itself again within the next year or so. Greater certainty will come with the harvest.

Three months into the restoration, the leaders sit together in the sanctuary for a meeting; Dashau, Jakir of the Toparri, and the standing commander of the garrison north of Michi Villaige -a strapping and older gray Org named Ashan-mai. He is also one of the last remaining known Org- Ta.

Jirina clears her throat. "I wish to begin by extending my deepest gratitude, and on behalf of Pay's Hom, for all of your help."

"I believe the unity of our communities has been long overdue." Dashau pulls on his long, wispy white whiskers, his large ears flitting back and forth. "Perhaps having done so sooner would have saved us a portion of this disaster."

"I'm inclined to agree." Ashan-mai nods slowly, almost reluctantly.

"If I may be so bold to ask," Jakir tries gently, "what are your plans once Pay's Hom is whole again?"

For a moment Jirina has no answer. In truth she has yet to give the notion much thought, seeing as the town still has so far to go. "Well," she swallows, "I suppose we could extend help out to any other villages that need it."

"What of the council building? The old palace?"

"From where I stand, there will be no need for either of them without the people being safe and thriving. Without a kingdom to govern a government serves no purpose. I am willing to rebuild Cyl Og Sul, that can be a priority, but I'd prefer not to set a foot within the ruins of the palace for the time being."

"Wise words." the garrison commander approves. "The people need homes. They need stability as soon as we can offer it to them."

"Indeed." Dashau agrees. "And my people need to time to recover our numbers. We believe some of us may still be in hiding, but it will take a considerable amount of time to bring them home."

Jirina nods, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the worn wooden table between them. "I...we would be appreciative of your continued help, Jakir, if you and yours are willing to give it."

"We may have to return to the grove for a short time, but yes, you can count on us."

"Again, thank you."

Before the exchange can continue, the iron hinges of the sanctuary doors creak and swing open. Xero strides through, seeming in only a marginal hurry. His face is securely set with purpose.

"I hope you will forgive the interruption." he begs their pardon once he is close enough for them to hear. He moves beside Jirina, bending down that he might whisper. "Clemett is here and wishes to speak with you."

"Oh," her surprise is much more evident in her voice and straightened posture than on her face. "I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me for a moment."

The Gadgeteer is waiting just outside. "Hey there, big gal."

"What are you doing here, mechanic?" Not meaning to sound ungrateful. She's actually quietly happy to see him.

"Oh, well, I didn't mean to interrupt the brain trust, but I thought you'd like to know that I've convinced the Elder Makers to lend you guys a hand."

Her head cocks slightly.

"Yeah, I got a hold of Lou and fixed up the MOLE. It let us bring down some supplies, mostly food and medicine. I figured you guys could use whatever we could bring."

She smiles. Actually _smiles_. She just can't help herself. "Thank you, Clemett. You didn't have to trouble yourself."

"Sure I did. Can't expect you to clean up this mess by yourself. Ah-," he stumbles to correct himself, "you _two_ , that is. Sorry, head."

"I'll forgive you if you just remember my name for a change."

Clemett laughs. "Oh, I also have some news from topside."

"And?" Jirina crosses her arms, ready for good or bad.

"Captain blondie wants us to try and meet him in Karillon in a couple days. It's nothing serious, or at least that's what he says, but he wants us to try and come. Eyre is willing to take us there if you two are game."

"I can't leave now." Jirina immediately shakes her head. "Stinger's out of his mind."

"I think the effort will survive a week or two without you." Xero counters gently. "Unless, of course, you don't fully trust your allies at the table in there."

She frowns, brows knitting tight in the middle beneath the visor. "No, that's not it. I trust them, just..."

Xero leans in a little closer, not wanting Clemett to hear. "You're exhausted as well. Perhaps another occupation would do you some good."

She cuts her eyes to him, and though he cannot see them he feels how they gouge into his own.

"Please consider it." he adds. "I believe you need to step away from this for a short while."

"Are you accusing me of something?" she inches her face closer to his, a gesture meant to intimidate.

"Not at all, just telling you what I see." clearly the tactic doesn't work.

Clemett watches the quiet exchange, both fascinated as well as anxious. He can feel the static between the two, it's almost scary. He jumps a little when the she-Org turns her gaze to him.

"Thank you, Clemett. Please, feel free to make yourself at home. I'll come to you with my decision as soon as I have it."

"Sure, big gal, no big rush. I'll go help get those supplies spread out."

She waits, even counting the Gadgeteer's steps until he disappears before snapping herself into place in front of Xero. A sprung steel trap.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again." Her mouth moves quickly, and all Xero sees is dark blue lips and flickers of teeth.

"Jirina, I-,"

"I know what you were _trying_ to do, and I am going to remind you for the _last_ time that I do not need it. You are not my nurse any longer, _old man_."

His expression holds, unreadable save for a mild creasing in the lines around his eyes. He won't flinch under the weight of her judgment.

"I can't afford to appear _frail_ to _anyone_. Not now. Do you understand?"

"I do." a curt nod.

"Then this will be the last time we have this conversation?"

He swallows, face stiffening by the slightest margin. "No. It won't. I would even go so far as to guarantee it."

Jirina wants grab him and shake him. Take handfuls of his long coat in her massive stone hands and just _shake_. Her fingers hook at her sides and vibrate with her gut deep frustration.

She resigns to jerk away from him, skulking back into the sanctuary and slamming the door behind her. But not before hissing "stubborn fool" loud enough for him to hear.

Xero merely shakes his head. "Stubborn woman."

 _(III)_

Windleaf feels the residue of the Etherwell on her skin like warm oil. Permeating, gently smoothing over her like a lover's hand. It's comforting and has been steadily restoring her youth. Though it appears as she looks herself over in a mirror -now that she can stand to be in the same room with one again- that her hair will always be this staggering white color.

And while the Etherwell had been crucial in unlocking her full potential as a mage, it didn't appear to do much for the loss of her powers now.

She has since tossed away any garment that reminds her of the Queen of Crows, which is easily half of her entire wardrobe. With an expression of genuine surprise she eventually uncovers what she wore before all of this mess came about. A forest green mantle with white, angled designs along the edges, and the wine red dress with stark white fern leaves dyed into it. She puts in on and studies herself in the mirror again, almost feeling...proud.

Stinger, Harv, and Igraine are waiting for her when she leaves her private quarters. They leave the Magic Academy together and begin walking north. The weather is fair, no dark clouds in sight.

"Do you think they'll come?"

"Well," Stinger scratches the back of his head, "I don't see why not. I can imagine most of them will."

"You didn't tell them, did you?" she looks at him, tries to catch his eyes but can't.

"Couldn't really find the words to explain it."

She doesn't quite believe him, but doesn't voice the suspicion. She can almost sense what is likely going through his mind and it makes her anxious. "I need to do this."

"I know you do. But I don't have to like it." his tone drops and becomes rough. His features tighten. "You should just come back to Treeside with me."

"Maybe I will. We'll see what Mayor Brady has to say."

A burst of air pushes between his teeth. "Shit. I know damn good and well what he's going to say."

"No you don't."

"What on earth makes you think for one Siltherian second that he isn't going to stretch you on a gallows pole?"

Windleaf is taken aback by how blunt he is, though it doesn't show. Her even strides stagger a little but that's the extent of her physical reaction. She takes a breath and stays focused on the road ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon where the plains eventually rise up into mountains.

"I have you. And the others if I'm lucky. Maybe that'll be enough."

Karillon had become a depressed, _oppressed_ city over the last decade. Many denizens fled to outlying towns and villages in the beginning, before the walls had to be shut to keep out the madness. But that didn't save most people. The malady seeped in like water into a cracked jar, and within the first five years half of the remaining population went insane or died. Now, after the word of Hokum's demise the gates are open again, hopeful that people would start returning home. Or at the very least come in hopes of landing a steady job rebuilding the place.

Stinger has to show the gatekeeper his royal seal before they are allowed inside, Igraine having informed him that they came from the academy causing more alarm than relief. Safe to say the reputation of the place has greatly changed. As they move through a not-so-busy Oldtowne they look for a familiar face, trying to ignore all of the boarded up stores and homes. They move unhindered into Middletown, finding it in only marginally better condition. Again they aren't stopped by anyone, and there's no sign of their friends. Just a few lingering gazes in their direction. They have to take the Skyway to Hightowne. Thankfully it still works.

Stinger has been trying his best not to look at her. Every time he does it makes his heart clench. It makes him stomach the idea that this will be the last time he sees her, that he might have to let her go again. It makes him sick, almost as sick as seeing how accepting she is of the matter. So he does his best just to keep his arms crossed and his eyes on the ground, biting his tongue while he's at it.

Hightowne is still even in the middle of the day. Then again it was never much the bustling place before everything went to pot. This is where the council and other elite lived, and they had liked their neighborhood quiet. Guess it doesn't matter now that a majority of them are dead as a doornail.

It's at the foot of the pathway leading up to the council offices that they spot a waving hand. It is the Gadgeteer.

"Afternoon, captain, good to see you." he shakes Stinger's hand first, greeting the others in turn. "Hey, you're lookin' better, Windleaf."

"Thanks." she takes the compliment for what it is. She's beginning to feel anxious, wanting to get this done and over with. "Did anyone else come?"

"Yeah," he nods, "the head and Jirina are around, probably still peckin' at each other like an old married couple."

"Curious. What are they arguing about?" Harv asks, seeming as genuinely interested as a robot could be.

"Whatever it is, I ain't askin'. All I know is that if they talk to each other at all, at least one of them is yelling."

"Perhaps that strategy is best then." the harvester nods.

"So what's this all about, slim?" He looks at Stinger, but shifts his attention when Windleaf answers.

"I'm surrendering myself to the council. It's time I face the consequences for what I've done."

"You sure that's wise, darlin'?"

"Wise or not, I have to."

Clemett looks at Stinger again. "And you're okay with this?"

"I've tried talking her out of it. Numerous times. Besides...it isn't up to me." He can't meet anyone's gaze. "Let's just get this over with."

Jirina and Xero are waiting in the lobby just inside the doors. After a brief greeting, they ask the lone receptionist to let the mayor know they've arrived.

It isn't long at all before they're allowed into the council chambers. The Karillon council is made up evenly of men and women, two and two including Mayor Brady, a man of small stature and with glasses that most of them readily recognize in spite of his being wheelchair bound. When given leave, Windleaf steps onto the podium before the bench, hands folded in front of her.

"This council hearing is now in session." Mayor Brady begins in a rehearsed manner. "I open the floor to Archmage Windleaf of the Magic Academy."

"Thank you, your honor. First of all I wish to extend appreciation for answering my letter."

"Of course."

"Secondly...I can never offer up a sufficient apology for what I've done."

"True enough." he nods once. "With that being said, this council is not seeking an explanation, nor is it in the market for apologies. Restitution to the city will be made, period."

"Yes, your honor." she swallows, chin dipping as fear pools in her chest as a heavy heat.

"You stand accused of treason. What is your response?"

She takes a deep breath and manages to lift her heady head. "I have none."

"Do you accept the accusation?" he seems surprised.

"Yes, your honor."

Brady looks to his fellow council members who appear as shocked as himself. Perhaps they were expecting some long winded deliberation. He clears his throat. "Have you anything to testify in your own defense?"

"Well," she wasn't planning on this. A chance to argue her case never crossed her mind. "If you can recall, I served Karillon in the past. My companions and I, that is. And while you might not believe it, I did what I could in my capacity as Archmage to keep Hokum's forces from overwhelming Gogarin Keep, as well as taking the steps to infiltrate Hokum's palace and destroy him."

"Which, considering you _are here_ , you succeeded in that particular endeavor?"

"Yes, your honor." she nods once. "If it pleases the council, I would also like to testify that I have lost my powers. And I have every intention of abdicating my position to my apprentice once affairs are in order."

"Who is your apprentice? Please step forward."

The blue Org's features stretch to their extremes as all attention falls on her. There is a second podium, and after a spell Igraine steps up to it so the council can see her properly.

"State your name for the record please, miss."

"I-Igraine Anari."

"And _are you_ the Archamge's apprentice?"

"Y-yes, your honor. F-for the last ten years."

Brady nods. "And it's _Admiral_ Lochane now, isn't it?"

His head snaps up. "Yes? I mean, yes it is, your honor."

"Please come forward, admiral."

He complies, looking only mildly confused.

"Now, Miss Anari, can you confirm what the Archmage claims? Did she actually work against Damon Hokum in that capacity?"

"Y-yes, sir, she did. I-in fact, I was one of the very few she could trust enough to tell. I mean...I can't say for sure when she began plotting against him...only that she was."

"What about you, admiral?"

"It's true, your honor. In fact Windleaf reached out to us to start with. My crew can confirm her presence on my ship several weeks ago, not to mention my friends here. Without her we wouldn't have had clue one as to how to reach Hokum, much less how to navigate his fortress without getting our sorry asses blown to pieces."

Brady clears his throat, trying not to notice how his fellow council members chuckle a little. "And as to the nature of the Archmage's powers?"

"Gone, your honor. She has to start fires with matches like the rest of us."

"Ah, well put, admiral. You may step down. You as well, Miss Anari." He clears his throat again before speaking. "Can anyone else attest these events to be factual by a show of hands?"

Everyone but Jirina moves. She lingers in the shadows of the doorway, simply bearing witness.

He nods in acceptance. "Anything else in your defense, Archmage?"

"Only that...I'm all too aware of the gravity of the situation. I know what I've done, the damage I have caused, and I would hope the fact that I came here of my own volition will show my sincerity in wanting to set things right. If they can be set right."

"Indeed. This council will now take a brief recess to deliberate our decision. Please do not leave the building."

There is an unseen door at the back of the room that the council exits through, the loud crack of it closing behind them echoing through the room. They would return within the hour.

Windleaf stands before the council one last time, a lump the size of her fist nestled in her throat and her palms slick with sweat. Her knees tremble a little, anxiety weakening them. Doubly so when none of the other council members sit.

"Archmage Windleaf, this council finds you guilty of treason."

She swallows.

"However,"

She swears her heart stops.

"We will not disregard your efforts to aid the city in the past as well as your most recent attempts. With that being said we have decided to take execution off the table."

"Thank you, your honor."

"But your debt to society will still be paid. Effective immediately you are to surrender your rank and privileges to your apprentice. You are also now indebted to the city of Karillon the sum of two-hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces. Affective within twenty four hours you are to surrender yourself to the Gogarin Order of Knights to serve _no less_ than five years -and no more than ten years in custody of the state. And lastly, you are hereby forever exiled from the city of Karillon. This sentence as it has been handed down is final and may not be, by any means, repealed or amended."

She can only nod, her throat so tight now.

"This hearing is adjourned."

The seven of them leave the council building together, mostly silent until they are outside again.

"I-I'm not ready for this." Ingrain stammers, her hands wringing together. "Miss Windleaf, I can't take over the academy, I just-,"

"It's going to be all right."

"B-but-,"

"Just trust me." Windleaf smiles a little. "You might not be ready, but I know you have what it takes. I'll leave some instructions to help you along."

" _Some_?"

Stinger is listening as he lingers at the back of the pack of bodies. His insides are twisted up, if not physically then emotionally. Of course he's glad she didn't get the death penalty, that was a weight on his shoulders he's glad to be rid of. But for Keerg's sake, five to ten? Maybe he is just being immature, and if he voices his feelings he is certain Windleaf will tell him just that. Or maybe it isn't so much the punishment that makes him grit his teeth, but the indifference with which it was delivered. Brady is an old friend...

"You all right, lad?"

His head jerks upward, features stretching out of a heavy scowl as he looks beside him to meet Xero's inquiring eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

"Things certainly could have gone worse."

"I know." he deflates.

"But it's clear that this is still hard for you."

"In a way."

"Might I make suggestion?"

Stinger's head falls back with a burst of air, smirking in spite of himself. "Sure."

"Why don't we all go for a drink? Surely there's a pub still in business here."

"Of course there is." he laughs, patting the Mage Warrior on the back. "You're a man after my own heart, Von Moon."

"Let's not get emotional, now."

There is a fork in the paved path they walk where their group suddenly splits. Well, not so much split as fragments, Jirina making a sharp turn away from them and heading up a ramp.

"Eh, big gal, ain't you coming?" Clemett's boots actually squeak when he suddenly stops.

"I am not." she doesn't stop as she replies.

"C'mon, the spirits in this old burg aren't so bad."

"Alcohol is the last thing I need, I assure you." What she needs is to be alone. "But, by all means, enjoy yourself."

"Hey, now, hold up a second." he jogs after her, surprised she actually stops. "You know I can't really let loose without you. You're like my partner in crime. Come on, just a couple."

She takes a breath. "While I appreciate the sentiment, it would be better if I didn't."

If she could see his face, she would find worry and curiosity. "All right...but can I ask you something?"

"If you must."

"You...you're not steamed about what happened in there, are you?"

Her jaw tightens and for a split second she looks away from him. "...How I feel about it doesn't matter."

"Sure it does." when she tries to step away he mimics the action, keeping the distance between them unchanged. "...You wish they axed her, don't you?"

The she-Org hates guessing games, particularly when they're played against her. "It doesn't-,"

"Damn it, girl, would ya stop it already? Just _say it_." he takes half a step closer.

Her body shifts, surprised. "You know my feelings."

"But not about _this_. I know you'd give damn near _anything_ to watch that poor girl swing by her neck _like that_ ," he snaps his gloved fingers near his head with a dull _thop_ , "but you just found out that ain't gonna happen. Don't try to tell me you don't _feel_ something over that."

Jirina scowls hard, evidence of it showing in hard lines around her mouth. But her tone remains level, though unsettling. "If you _do_ happen to have a nose under there, mechanic, I would advise you to keep it where it is. What I feel is my business, and I intend for it to stay that way. Don't push me."

"Or what?"

"Or I will push _back_." her expression softens slightly. "I still regard you as a friend and I would rather not sacrifice that. Now _please_...leave me be."

It takes every ounce of what little self-discipline he has not to say another word. It likely would have gotten his head shoved down into his rib cage.

Author's Note: A lot of what's coming is mostly interpersonal drama stuff. Crow to eat, apologies to make, demons to face, you know. So if that's not your thing, you know where the door is. Otherwise, hope you are enjoying this. I know it seems like I dwell on Jirina a lot, but I have my reasons. She's got the most conflict to resolve now, plus she's easily my favorite. I like spending time with her. There are some character illustrations for this in my gallery at .com if you're interested. Would like to do more eventually, but that's kind of up in the air.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Six**

The Blue Door pub hasn't changed. Even the bar stools that have had their legs broken and repaired numerous times sit nestled in their places beneath the counter. Duffy still runs the place, showing his age in gray hair sprouting at his temples and a beard. He recognizes Stinger the moment he walks into the somewhat crowded room, immediately offering him a seat and something cold. There is room enough for everyone, though Xero forgoes his seat at the sight of the billiards table. Harv is not too far behind, asking the Mage Warrior to teach him the game. Clemett is more than happy to partake in the first round of drinks, so much so that he starts in on the next one as soon as he's able. Stinger and Windleaf sit together with Igraine one seat away.

Stinger watches with arched brows as Duff puts a rather large frosted glass of ale in front of both him and Windleaf.

"You sure you can handle that?"

She smirks in an almost devious fashion. "We're about to find out."

"You're not,"

"I'm certainly going to try."

Stinger's face steadily stretches, smile widening as she tips the mug back and attempts to drink it all. He can just see Igraine on the other side of her, horrified with her iced mila tea only half way to her mouth.

She gets so close but can only manage a little more than half of the drink before she has to stop with a gasp. He gives her an approving grin and a quiet clap of his hands for the effort.

"Keerg's beard," Windleaf wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing a little, "that's actually really good."

"While I agree, let's not get too acquainted in one sitting, okay? Could you get another round ready, Duff?"

"Aye, captain."

Windleaf muffles a burp behind her hand, amused for a moment. "I probably shouldn't stay too long."

Stinger takes his first big gulp. "I wasn't intending for us to. Just long enough to have a little fun, we'll go to the Stag for the night and set out in the morning."

"The Gallant Stag is still open?"

"That I know of. If not...well...we've slept outside before, doubt it would kill us to do it again." he inches his shoulders, brows jumping for a second with mild uncertainty. He takes another mouthful. "I just...I'd really like to spend the night with you."

She cocks her head to the side a little, blue eyes settling on him, and she smiles after a quick study. Then she straightens again, looking into the amber and lace of her drink. "I think I'd like that too."

Stinger feels a flash of heat jump into his face, not expecting an answer so quickly, much less the answer he received. He just shakes his head, laughing and lifting his mug. "Here's to the night."

"It's the middle of the afternoon." she says aloud, not necessarily to him. The thought is simply forgotten, callously shoved aside by a wash of ale.

The lot of them spend almost the entire evening just as they are; laughing, drinking, and getting a hell of a thrill out of Xero losing his gentlemanly nature over being beaten by a robot. Stinger and Windleaf aren't wholly intoxicated by the time they leave the pub just before sunset, but they aren't exactly what one would call sober, either. The pair laugh a little too much, too hard, and find themselves leaning on one another for support every other step. The Inn of the Gallant Stag is indeed still in business, but there aren't any vacancies available when they stumble through the door. Stinger thanks the owner all the same and they make their way back into the street, helping each other towards the main gate and out of Karillon.

The grasslands are dull with the rusty colors of dry plants and twilight. The first wave of crickets are starting to sing as the last vestiges of daylight disappear. They stop once it is too dark to see, finding a half ring of stones to serve as their campsite for the night. Propped against one of the larger rocks, Stinger drapes his long coat over him and Windleaf, her tucked under his arm just as he had often daydreamed. They talk and laugh quietly in the night, pointing out the constellations, then not so quietly when they realize they left Igraine at the Blue Door. She's a big girl, she can handle herself.

Windleaf shivers in the chill of the night and inches that much closer, head on his chest in a way that lets her hear him breathe. She can't imagine being anywhere else, not now, not ever. She can't bear the thought of the sun coming up again.

"I'm going to miss you." she says without thinking.

For a moment he doesn't speak, his bare hand smoothing over her hair before the fingers start threading through it. His free hand searches blind under the leather coat to cover hers as it sits on his stomach. "I'll write. Will you?"

"Of course. If I can."

He nods slowly. "I'll visit too...whenever I'm in the neighborhood." and while he thinks of it, he promises to make an honest effort to make sure he's actually _in_ the neighborhood more often than what is likely.

Windleaf smiles to herself at the feel of his arm tightening around her, his body tucking towards her as he kisses the top of her head. A surge of warmth blossoms through her to couple with the fluttering rhythm of her heart. "Thank you."

Stinger presses the round of his cheekbone to her hair. "For what?"

"Believing in me. There were times when even _I_ couldn't...but you did."

He's quiet. Then "I had to. I have to have something worth fighting for to give everything I got...just the way it is, I guess. And...well...you know."

She's squeezing his hand.

"I love you." he finishes, and it's sudden. Almost like he didn't plan it. Stinger feels his pulse hitch at the admission, waiting for a response.

Windleaf's smile fades, pushed down by a hard rush of heat to her face. "You mean that?"

"I've got no reason to lie." he says quickly. "Not to mention I've had a whole decade to think it over."

"Oh yeah? When?"

He takes a breath, her head rising and falling his chest. "Since our first visit to Treeside. You remember that?"

"How could I forget?" a little laugh as she rolls her eyes. "Varley was a right bastard, wasn't he?"

"Asshole with a capitol A." he laughs, a chuckle hard enough to make his chest bounce. "Still...I think that's when it got in my head."

She nods.

"Do you still feel the same?"

For a moment she's quiet, searching her mind. She was almost ready to ask what he was talking about, but she gave herself the needed time to recapture the memory. Back when they first made the assault on Tyr Og Nor, down in its underlying corridors and chambers, they had stumbled upon what could have been called a laboratory. They killed the Dargling scientist and released his subject, only to watch the young Toparri woman kill herself in grief of having watched her lifemate immolated in the name of research.

"...I do." she says finally. "I love you too."

Stinger's body shifts, Windleaf can hear his heart beating faster. "Can I kiss you?"

"I'd like that."

They turn to each other. She pulls on his shirt to stretch up against him, one of his hands lines her jaw, the other settling at her waist and tightening. Windleaf almost pulls back at the pins-and-needles bristle of his beard against her face. She can feel the hard thrumming of his heart beneath her hand, feels a charge of excitement when his breath hitches as their lips touch.

They separate slowly, searching for each other in the dark though they can barely see a thing.

"Do you want to keep going?" he whispers. "I mean...we've got all night."

"I know." she covers his hand with her own, leaning into his palm. "Drunk me says yes...sober me says no."

He's quiet again, then there's a quiet chuckle. "We probably should listen to sober you."

"It's not that I wouldn't want to,"

"No, it's okay. I guess I should've thought that through a little more." Then he yawns, mouth pulling wide enough for the hinges of his jaw to pop. "In that case...would sober you object to a few more kisses, maybe a little tongue, and snuggling for the rest of the evening?"

"Not in the least."

 _(II)_

Strange how such a synthetic place as Eyre has a garden. When not in flight it's common to find only one Gadgeteer here, but tonight he doesn't tend this dark place in solitude per the usual.

Jirina lays on her back, slowly running her hands over the soil and grass beneath her, a phantom sensation vibrating through stone fingers. It's the only way she can find any peace, any contentment, here surrounded by the cool and silent earth. Her many thoughts fade into a dull roar, blending in with the sound of crickets and the attempted stealth of the garden's keeper.

She studies the stars above, knowing none of them or their constellations. There were no stars in Wyldern, at least, not what one would typically consider stars. Exposed mineral and semiprecious gemstone deposits caught the light of her home's pseudo sun and glistened just as the stars above her do now. She wonders what makes them shine. Jirina will think about anything to take her mind away from the here and now. Anything that will distract her. Today alone had made her sick to her stomach, made her want to scream at the top of her lungs, kill the nearest living, breathing thing. But, as usual, she sucked it down and found a quiet place to be alone. It's all she knows; find a way to tune out the noise and let her mind go somewhere else.

Go to her happy place. Or at least look for it.

Five to ten. Five to _fucking_. _Ten_. No more than a decade coupled with a pile of gold coins...in exchange for countless innocent lives torn inside out and four kingdoms ultimately demolished. Siltheria had been reduced to a desert in the first Darg War, along with its island neighbor Fanoma. Khelestra survived in spite of it all, but by the finest thread. Metaboline is practically thriving now, but not without the great sacrifice of her last king. And Wyldern...Orgran's grace, her home had been yanked out by the roots and scattered to the four winds. True, there was hope for it now, but...

She takes a deep, slow drawing breath and exhales in the same fashion.

The idea that these humans thought themselves qualified to put such a pitiful price on the damages wrought by the Darg fills Jirina with such a fury. Clemett was right. She is _so angry_. The feeling keeps her jaw tight enough for her teeth to hurt. But she didn't regret not speaking against Windleaf during the hearing. The human had kept her word and fought Hokum in spite of the mortal risks she faced. Jirina considered it as one returns a favor. A last courtesy. Otherwise the girl would've had her neck stretched.

And how she would have _loved_ to watch.

The numbers ring through her head again. Five to ten. Jirina had spent more time as a slave in that damn hexite mine. And it had felt twice as long seeing as there was no way of knowing if that misery would ever end. Windleaf will go home some day, she will be free. But...

Jirina takes another deep breath as she feels her heart hitch, tears threatening with their telling burn in her eyes beneath the visor. _Her_ life is never going to be the same. The thought of home is just that, a thought. And freedom...it's just a daydream.

She shifts her position, one hand resting on her stomach while the other pushes over her scalp, rough stone edges catching on sable strands. Her eyes track a falling star for the brief second it burns. Two more flicker overhead and she smiles a little, never having seen them before.

There are footsteps nearby, not the staggered ones of the keeper, but steady ones. An intentional rhythm that draws steadily closer and stops just beside. She makes no gesture of acknowledgment, says nothing, just remains as she is.

"Good evening."

No response.

"Glad to see you relaxing for a change. Excellent conditions for stargazing. The stars over Siltheria are much different, at least they were when I was a young man."

Jirina shrugs. "What do you want?"

Xero sits in the grass and moss, crossing his legs and folding his hands between his thighs. For a moment he stays quiet, looking up, thinking. "I worry over you, which I'm sure you've noticed."

"Not at all."

He looks down at her, eyes thinning and mustache puckering at her sarcasm. "I just wanted to be sure you were all right."

"I know. Clearly I am fine."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that." he turns his head upward again.

"Sounds like you and the mechanic have been talking."

"In his defense, once he begins to drink, talking isn't exactly what I would call it." he laughs. "Ranting is more appropriate."

"Ah." after a moment she turns her head. "Are you saying he was ranting about me?"

"More so your stubbornness." he nods. "No doubt he believes things would be better if you...how did he put it...'pulled the stick out'. Not entirely sure what he means by that, but I can imagine."

Her head rolls back to its original position as she chuckles to herself. Part of her loved how out of place the Mage Warrior could be. On the other hand she felt a little sorry for him.

"Although, if I'm understanding the maxim correctly, I'm willing to agree. Would it hurt you so much to just...talk about it? I mean...we're friends after all."

"It simply wouldn't change anything. That's all."

His chin falls, his snowy brows lowering. "True enough. But..." he takes a breath, "I've found that it helps when someone else understands."

"No one will ever understand." she counters quickly. "Some of the things...there are no words."

"Also very true." he agrees with an exaggerated nod.

"You have things you can't talk about, old man?" she looks at him, her expression empathetic. That is, if he could see it.

"A few, yes."

"Then aren't you being a little hypocritical?"

"Perhaps, now that you mention it...yes, I suppose so. My apologies."

"Hmm."

Silence settles in again, and after several minutes he mimics her posture and lays flat on his back, hands folding behind his head.

"How about...I'll share one of mine and you share one of yours?"

"You _must_ be joking."

"Not at all. Hardly seems fair everyone asking you to be vulnerable without offering the same."

She smiles to herself again. She takes a deep breath. "Very well, if it will get you off my back. I'm listening."

He searches his memory, reaching as far back as he was willing to go. He swallows, making sure his words will be clear before he begins.

"Mannheim was a brother to me in all but blood. We had known each other since we were young boys...grew up together. For the longest time it seemed we had common interests, common ideals. The most difficult trial we faced together before...the end, was we happened to fall in love with the same girl."

"Surely you settled it like -as you say- gentlemen."

"Yes, actually. More so fate settled it for us. She became a priestess."

"I see."

"Indeed." he clears his throat. "And though our driving reasons differed, we pursued the ranks of Mage Warrior together."

"Why _did_ you do it? I've often wondered." her head rolls towards him, that she might study his face.

"Well, to be completely honest, it's what Von Moons do. My father, my father's father...all the way back to the first company of them. So you could say I was a little...influenced in my decision, but in the end it was my choice to make. Mother thought I should have been a tailor."

"Surely you're joking." she smirks.

"Not in the least. And aren't you the one who thought I looked dashing when I got my body back?"

"Ah, yes, that was me." she nods, the smile getting wider. "I'll give you credit for that, old man, you can certainly dress."

"Why thank you." he feels smug for a split second. "Mannheim wanted the notoriety. He would be the first in his family to become a Mage Warrior. As we grew older it was all he could think about...talk about. I look at it now...it was almost frightening. But then all I could be was proud of him. I _wanted_ him to succeed. In ways I wanted to be him because he had a drive and dedication I had never seen before. It was admirable."

"So what changed?"

"During the conflict with the Darg," he takes a deep breath and exhales, "he and I were holding one of the more remote outposts. Though don't mistake me, it was anything but a minor stronghold -ten thousand people called it home, more than half as many soldiers keeping it as well. The enemy had been laying siege to the place for days but we were managing." Xero pauses again, breath still. "Then the east wall was blown apart...from the inside. There was no other choice but to withdraw...save as many civilians as we could. I knew the king would have my head...but I couldn't just...

"When I first heard it was Mannheim who breached the wall, I simply refused to believe it. He was there as I knelt before the king to face the consequences for my actions, I thought he was going to speak in my defense." He recalls the memory as if it were only yesterday. The bright gleaming alabaster columns of the Undrashi court, the multitude of silk banners hanging from them depicting the numerous royal houses. The bite of cold marble on his knees, and the all too brief confidence the sight of his friend in the room had given him. "I can't recall a time when I was more heartbroken...save for maybe when Mezzick brought me to you."

"How could that possibly-,"

"Because I almost lost another friend." he pauses again, expecting her to respond but in part hoping she doesn't. He then continues "I have nothing else. My homeland is dust and dunes, my people are all but whispers. Companionship with you and the others is my most prized possession. My only happiness."

"Xero-,"

"That's the reason I stayed in Wyldern in spite of how dangerous it was. The idea of leaving even one of you behind tore at me. I _had_ to make sure everyone could come home. One way or another."

What can she say?

"That is also why I stay and nag you as I do. I want you to come home."

"But-,"

He shakes his head. "You're still at war, I can see that. Though Wyldern is free, it still isn't home, is it?"

Jirina sits up, a snap of motion at feeling her heart hitching and breathing become a little forced. Her eyes were burning with tears without her permission, without her being ready to choke them down. How on earth does he _do that_?

Xero copies the motion when he sees her moving to stand up. "Please don't go, Jirina."

There is no answer as she becomes upright and starts with even, somewhat hurried strides passed him.

"Jirina," he calls again, surprised when she actually stops. "Come now, we had an agreement."

Her shoulders move up and down with steady, deep breaths. "I have a question."

Xero stands up before giving consent to the inquiry.

"Were you awake?"

"What? When?"

"When you were given your artificial body?"

"Well...no, can't say I was."

"And when the king took your head?"

His face tightens, eyes settling on the ground. "Yes."

"Was it painful?"

"Not really, no. I have found that...soul crippling guilt and disappointment have a penchant for dulling the pain."

Her head turns just far enough that Xero can see the profile of her face over the swell of her shoulder. "I was awake when they crippled me. And it _is still painful_." The phantom pain crackling through the stumps beneath the stone is a daily endeavor to overcome. But just like many other things, she refuses to show how much it hurts.

His jaw hangs, expression pleading. When she starts walking away from him again he forces the words out. "Talk to me, Jirina, _please_. That can't be all of it,"

"I am finished talking. Goodnight, Xero."

All he can do is watch her disappear back into the lighted corridors of Eyre, stupefied for a moment before his frustration bubbles up and reddens his face. He rakes his scalp and stomps his foot with a few choice oaths before resigning himself to the state of things. He wouldn't sleep at all that night, and Keerg knows he tried.

 _(III)_

 _Stinger,_

 _I know it's been six months, and I apologize. If I had been allowed to write sooner I would have. I guess you're wondering how I'm doing. Rest assured I'm all right, things aren't as bad as we expected them to be. I have everything I need so I can't really complain, not in good conscience anyway. I'm basically a housekeeper for the few hours they let me out of my cell, which isn't so terrible. The knights are kind to me at best, indifferent at the least._

 _How are you? I can imagine being admiral keeps you rather busy. Speaking of which, you'll have to tell me where you got the name Lochane. It suits you. Also, what about the others? Have you heard from them recently?Any news about Wyldern? Sorry for all the questions, guess it comes with being somewhat of a shut in._

 _I hope this letter finds you well and know that I'm anxious for your response. I miss you. I miss everyone._

 _With love,_

 _Windleaf_

 _P.S. Do you think you could send me some books? I've read the few they have here. Also, don't try and hide anything in them, they're sure to find it. Igraine visited me last week and they did everything but a cavity search. Thank you, in any case._

 _Windleaf,_

 _It really made my day to get your letter. Don't sweat not being able to write me sooner, I understand. To be honest, considering your charges, I'm surprised they let you write anyone at all. Glad to hear you're all right, too. I was worried. I'm going to do my best to visit soon; the queen has been exchanging correspondence with the Karillon Council for a while now. Word has it they're discussing opening harbors so we can start trading with one another. Won't that be something? An actual sea faring navy?_

 _Harv and I are okay, and you're right to guess that we're busy. Griffon is looking for a wife, so the whole kingdom is in a bit of tizzy. Rumors are already flying all over the place, no telling which one is even close to the truth. As for the others I haven't heard much. The most I've seen of is Clemett. He's acting as go-between for Eyre and Metaboline, maybe they want to build another dock closer to the palace. Feels like the world is getting smaller, doesn't it?_

 _As for Wyldern I haven't heard anything, haven't seen Xero or Jirina for six months. I can only assume they're all right. Maybe I'll talk to Clemett and see if we can go check on them. If I can convince the queen it's for potential alliance purposes she'll likely agree to let me disappear for a few days._

 _I try to stay as busy as possible, keeps me from missing you too much. Because I do. I miss you a hell of a lot. After that night we spent together in the fields, it's hard for me not to think of you. All I want to do is hold you. These next few years are going to be hard on me, I know it. But the letters will help. Here's to hoping we see each other soon._

 _Also, hope you like the books. I wasn't sure what you were into, so I just picked some._

 _Love,_

 _Stinger_

 _P.S. Not much of a story to go with the name. I needed a surname when I received my royal appointment, you know, for the records and stuff. So what better than my hometown, right? But I agree, it suits me pretty well. Take care of yourself._

 _(IV)_

A year passes before Pay's Hom is considered stable. A governor is in place, the mines are open and hexite is beginning to be refined in sustainable quantities. The people aren't terrified of going hungry any longer and within the next month the school will be operating again.

From there the restoration movement goes to Michi to the north, still inhabited by one man. Those that still called the place home settle back in and are given a few months worth of supplies to tide them over until the armor trade that made the town so famous could spring back to life.

Dashau is generous enough to allow them all sanctuary in the Banori caves, throwing a small celebratory dinner to mark the anniversary of Hokum's death and the great strides the populous has made towards rebuilding their home and coming together to do so. The Banori still have a long way to go, a journey only they can make to restore their numbers.

A few Banori remain to move on, those too young or too old to rear children but still strong enough to lend a hand. They follow the river to the edges of the Tanglewood, following the Toparri to their grove. Here they rest, gather more supplies, and discuss what is to come next.

"Cyl Og Sul must be completely rebuilt." Ashan begins, a natural rumble to his voice when he talks.

"While I agree, I don't see anyone going within miles of the place, not so soon." Jakir shakes his head. "There's still so much energy there."

"Can it be dispelled?"

"It will take a great deal of time. And more manpower than the Toparri can offer. We'll need shamans from all over to wipe the Darg's essence away."

"If there are any."

"Indeed."

Jirina clears her throat gently, a subtle request to be heard. "If we can find an agreement, perhaps we should consider asking help from the Magic Academy." She meets the eyes of her Org counterparts and sees they need an elaboration. "A collection of wizards from Apunn-sii."

"Pah!" Ashan spits. "It's hard enough being forced to stomach the presence of this unnatural thing," he gestures with a toss of his head towards Xero, who shows no reaction, "but I'll be damned if I have to look at another human again!"

"This 'unnatural thing' has done nothing but help us, him along with my Gadgeteer brother. Two humans were present when Hokum was slain. _You_ were not." she can tell by the way his back stiffens like his jaw that he doesn't appreciate her tone. Nor does she care. "I believe it is our best chance at being rid of whatever is left of that _cancer_. But it should be decided upon by the majority."

"You know my feelings." Ashan grumbles.

"What do you know of this academy?" Jakir asks, seeming interested in the idea.

"It's currently under the watch of a new Archmage, Igraine Anari, a blue Org navigator. She's young, inexperienced perhaps, but she has been doing well from what I hear. I believe she would be willing to send help. At the very least, know where we might search for the help we need."

"Indeed. Should we consult Dashau?"

"At this point I don't think he much cares what we do, so long as it doesn't work against his people. Although I feel we should discuss this with the rest of the group. I don't want to subject them to any undue friction."

"Very wise." Jakir nods with obvious approval. On the other hand, Ashan continues to sulk. "Let's not waste any time."

It is a very close vote in the end, a difference of three in favor of asking for outside help. Xero is sent to the surface to address the Academy directly, since it's a well accepted fact that he is far more diplomatic. And while the Archmage herself cannot personally attend the matter, the Mage Warrior returns within the month with a dozen senior students from the academy. They were handpicked by Anari for their particular talents in working with curses and neutralizing black magic.

Xero steps into the hollowed-out mushroom dwelling where they often meet to find Jirina alone, seeming to casually pace the floor. She stops at the sound of his footsteps, regarding him in the quickest fashion he had ever seen. "You made it back safely, good."

He nods. "The students are very eager to meet you. I could let them in if you're ready to receive them."

"In a moment." her gaze breaks to the side, the gesture made obvious by the sudden turn of her head. "Ashan has abandoned us."

His features stretch. "What?"

"No one knows why, but he took his men and left perhaps a week ago now. I'm assuming he returned to the garrison."

"Perhaps he was being quite serious about his unwillingness to work with humans."

"So it would appear. But there's more."

Mentally bracing himself, "Is there now?"

She nods and looks up at him. "The people have shown a desire to have the throne occupied until a proper council can be reinstated. We haven't had an emperor in...a long while."

"So I understand." his expression changes suddenly. "I certainly hope Ashan didn't leave because they wouldn't let him rule."

Jirina feels herself shudder. "It wouldn't surprise me. He may be Org-Ta, but there is a part of him that most certainly is _not_. Jakir would not take it either, he and his kind prefer to stay neutral."

"Ah-ha, I think I see where this is going." Xero slowly nods.

"I can't."

His brow furrows, a look of mild confusion coming over him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can't do it, Xero. It's not my place. I have no right to lead anyone. All of our emperors were...better than me."

" _Pshaw_ , says who?"

She doesn't have an answer, and her eyes ease away from him again as she resumes pacing the floor.

"I simply refuse to believe that." he continues. "And you're absolutely _kidding_ yourself by not doing the same. You say you have no right to lead? Then what on earth have you been doing for the last year? All this work sure as _hell_ didn't finish itself."

"Of course not," she snarls a little, "the people did it. Not me. They should govern themselves."

"And they will _in time_. But, for now, they want someoneto help them until they are strong enough. It sounds like they wish for that someone to be you."

She stops mid stride, faces him and juts a stone finger in his direction. "I told you. _I. Can't._ "

"You _can't_ , or you simply do not wish to?"

Heavy steps bring her to stand in front of him, her dark blue lips thin with what he could only read as steadily accumulating fury. But there was nothing about her manner or posture that alerted him to what she was about to do. The she-Org snatches him by the ponytail and pulls. A great jerk of motion with enough force to separate his head from his artificial body at the neck. All he can see now is her thigh as his head swings back and forth in her grip. He can't help but to unleash a string of horrified slurs at the brief sight of his body going limp and falling into a pile on the floor.

Jirina promptly takes him outside and wastes no time in giving the Mage Warrior a sound kick that sends his head half way across the grove. She can only imagine what he was saying as the sound of his cries die with the growing distance. Then she realizes that all of the humans from the Magic Academy had seen that, but she goes unfazed. Now they understand a little something about her. More so about her patience, which she hopes will prevent them from being tempted to test it.

"Welcome, humans. Time for you to see what you came here for, follow me."

Author's Note: I'm such a dork.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Seven**

It takes little more than a day to bring the human mages to what remains of Tyr Og Nor by way of the Emperor's Road, which takes them passed the old council building. Jirina can feel the dead heat surrounding the place as they move among the ruins, briefly wondering if the students can as well. Though she is convinced an _infant_ with any sensitivity to the ether would notice something.

Before they reach the gates of the palace she chances to look over her shoulder, make sure all of them are still accounted for. One has broken away, attention drawn to the great pile of boulders at the foot of the breached walls.

"Do not fall behind." and she waits to be heeded. She watches the young woman touch the stones, seeming to actually _feel_ them.

"They were once alive." she answers back after a moment. Her head then turns towards Jirina. " _You_ did this." and it isn't a question, it is a quietly amazed proclamation.

Jirina notices how all of the humans turn their eyes to her. In a way she feels proud. "Yes, but that isn't why I've brought you all here."

But still the mage doesn't return to her place. She keeps touching things, running her palms and fingertips over everything within reach. She doesn't stop until she takes hold of a jagged chunk of what had been the barrier wall. "This too...but not by you."

"Hokum birthed that thing, not I."

"Yes, I can feel it...like a fingerprint."

Jirina's eyes thin behind her visor. "It can be addressed later. Now come along, there's much work to do."

"Wait a moment, _wait for me_!"

Jirina's chin tips upwards slightly at the shouting the comes to her on an echo. With a concealed squint she deciphers a shape moving through the ruins they had left behind, a diffused silhouette capped in white. She smirks to herself, quiet, a laugh trapped in her when she realizes who it is.

"I cannot _believe_ it, you _brutish shrew_!" Xero slows his sprint so he doesn't knock anyone over as he pushes through the crowd. "How _dare_ you!"

"Glad you could make it, old man."

For a moment he cannot speak, he stands before her, one hand closed near his face in a pointing gesture, mouth ajar without a word to be heard. His mustache puckers with his displeasure as he closes his mouth, a hard grumble working through him.

He manages to rein in his temper, taking a cleansing breath in and out as he straightens the creases in his clothes and fussily fixes his hair. "If you ever do that to me again, I'm divorcing you."

The joke, or at least what she believes is a joke, catches her by surprise. Jirina's head snaps back as she lets out a great laugh.

"Now, if you are _quite finished_ embarrassing me, we should get started." And with his back as rigid as physically possible, his hands folded behind him, he marches through the gate ahead of them.

Once inside the students feel it, and the change is obvious. Some of them openly cringe at the oppressive _push_ of the residual energy within the palace. One of them faints right out. The majority simply seem to come down with a severe case of the heebie-jeebies. When the initial discomfort eases, the students begin spreading throughout the entry hall, studying the place, looking for whatever might be bumping around in the nooks and crannies.

It only takes a few minutes before they discover the first magical trap; a particularly nasty sigil meant to liquify from the inside anyone unfortunate enough to step over it. It will be one of several dozen, growing in number and severity as they draw closer to the inner chambers of the castle.

Xero and Jirina stay a comfortable distance ahead, preferring that any Darglings or worse that are still living here surprise _them_ instead of the humans. So far there is nothing. Anyone that was living here looked to have dropped everything and left, evidence found in the few barracks and private quarters they check along the way. What they do find are two of the largest spell traps they have ever seen; one outside of Hokum's private library, and the other along the threshold of what had been his bedroom. There is no way of knowing what would happen if they were activated, and it takes hours to dispel them.

The library is opened first, and only a few of the humans have the nerve to follow Jirina and Xero inside.

"I certainly hate to imagine what he could have enjoyed reading." Xero shakes his head, shivering at the idea of even touching one of the leather bound volumes. He squints for a moment to read one of the titles and quickly recoils with a toothy cringe.

"Were I to have my way, I'd say burn every last scrap." Jirina slowly shakes her head, arms crossed as she glares at a set of shelves.

"That's _actually_ not a bad idea."

Both of them turn to see the young woman who felt the remnants of the golems and the wall, once again running her hands over the books and their resting places.

"These aren't just books. Not all of them anyway."

"How so?" Xero asks, his curiosity genuine.

"Hokum made them into something...else. I believe you're right, they should be destroyed."

Xero is squinting again, snowy brows knitting together with a studying expression. "Pardon me if I sound rude, miss, but where are you from?"

"I grew up in Bene Brokul, but I was born to the nomads in Siltheria."

"Ah, I see." now that he can get a close look at her. Though her attire should have made it a little more than obvious to him. Then again, it had been so long since he had seen anyone dressed in the old Undrashi way. If not for that, her dark olive skin, dark eyes, and jet black hair should have tipped him off. "So how do you believe they should be disposed of?"

She smiles a little. "As Lady Jirina says, the hotter the fire, the better. One of my closest friends is here and has a talent for...disposing of these sorts of things that way."

"Let's gather them all together then. Once they're taken care of we'll rest a while before moving on. There's still the throne room, not to mention the lower levels." Jirina nods.

"Sounds like a plan." Xero agrees. "Though, before we get ahead of ourselves, what's your name?"

"Riada Taj'hal. My friends just call me Ria."

 _(II)_

Windleaf looks up from time to time to watch the rain fall outside her cell window, crystalline droplets shimmering beyond the stark blackness of iron bars. With legs crossed she tucks her feet beneath her dress, keeping the chill off of them while she reads. Her head jerks up and her frame shudders at the unexpected knocking on her cell door. It is one of the oldest knights currently serving at the keep, Sir George.

"Afternoon." she greets him, smiling.

"Afternoon," he returns the gesture, "you have a visitor, Miss Windleaf."

She tries to hide her excitement as she snaps the book closed and drops it on the mattress before almost jumping to her feet. She waits patiently for him to unlock the door.

"Hands first, miss."

"Oh, of course." her joy is slightly dampened as she eases both hands through the small opening within the bars, the same space they pass her meals through so he can put manacles on her wrists. Only then does he open the door.

"Hands above your head now."

She does as he says, waiting for the matching pair of chains to be placed around her ankles. Sir George knows she wouldn't run, but he just does as he's ordered.

"Now, per the usual, I can't leave you alone with your visitor. It's procedure."

"I know." she nods.

"All right. Follow me, please."

Sir George really is a gentleman, the quality most obvious as he helps her down several flights of stairs to the keep's ground level. He then leads her across the courtyard within the walls to where the ranking knights often hold their meetings, a seemingly meager room with a table large enough for only four people.

The chair Stinger occupies screeches against the stone paved floor as he almost jumps out of it, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Both of them wait for Sir George to situate himself in front of the door, barring anyone from leaving before he allows them to.

"Can I hug her?" he asks once he feels it's appropriate.

"For a moment."

It takes two long strides to round the table and come close enough to put his arms around her, squeezing just shy of too tight. He feels her reciprocate with one arm curling his waist, the most he can hope for considering the circumstances.

"Thank you _so much_ for coming." her voice comes a little muffled, pressing herself as close to his chest as possible. "Could Clemett not make it?"

"Not this time. He and the other Gadgeteers insist on working in the rain." he shakes his head.

"Why don't you sit? We'll talk about it."

"Because I'm not finished holding you."

"Yes you are, lad. Sorry." Sir George chimes in.

"Oh." with a strange mixture of quickness and reluctance he backs away, his hands falling to his side in awkward fists. "Guess I _will_ sit then."

They settle across from each other, hands folded atop the table to keep them connected.

"You look good." he clears his throat.

"You too. So work has started on the new harbor?"

"Yeah," he nods, "broke ground last week. Depending on the weather, it should take no more than three years to finish. Maybe half as long if Clemett and his guys keep working like this."

"Maybe I'll be able to see it when I get out."

He scratches the back of his head, eyes averted briefly. "Any idea when that's going to be? Last I heard the council was undecided."

"I don't know yet, either. Maybe they'll let me know something once I'm almost done with my mandatory sentence." she hunches her shoulders with passing curiosity. "Any more news from below since your letter?"

He shakes his head, brow furrowed. "Not a peep. I'll admit I'm concerned. I mean, not that I don't think Xero and Jirina can handle things, just...you know. Even _they_ can only take so much."

"Don't let them find out you said that. " she chuckles. "Maybe I can convince Igraine to go there...or for her to send someone. I honestly think I'm starting to worry with you."

"I'm sure they'll be all right. At the very least, if things _do_ get bad enough, Xero would get in touch with us. He's not too proud."

She nods in agreement, abruptly turning in her chair to look to Sir George. He's checking his pocket watch. Likely there isn't much time left.

She clears her throat, clasping his hand a little tighter. "I really appreciate you taking time to come here. You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to. You think this is an inconvenience?"

"No, just...I don't know. I'm just grateful."

"Of course." he smiles at her, seeming content. "Oh, before I forget, did you enjoy the last set of books I sent you?"

"Oh yes,very much, especially the slayer's diary. I'm right in the middle of it and can't put it down."

"Good, good. Is there any particular kind I should be on the look out for, or-,"

"Surprise me."

"Okay, just let me know when you're finished and I'll send you more. Only if it's all right with Sir George."

"So long as it doesn't cause any trouble, lad." the old knight tips his chin.

"I don't foresee that coming about unless I send her a couple pillow books." And he loves to watch her blush and squirm in her chair at the idea. "In any case...I guess I have to go, don't I?"

"Afraid so. But you'll be back soon, won't you?"

"As soon as I can get away. I promise." With visible reluctance he stands up, brushing the creases from his clothes. They chance one last, too brief embrace. "I love you." he whispers.

"Love you too."

 _(III)_

The second anniversary of Hokum's death is near now. This passed year has been so much more... _intense_ than the last.

The palace was steadily cleansed of the Darg's lingering influence, a laborious endeavor that takes nearly six months alone. All the while the council building was being renovated and cleared of what was left of the Vrita nests. It was in the council buildings they find the first -or more appropriately the last- vestiges of Darglings since the old dictator died. Maybe a dozen Darg Orgs and their conjured monsters. When the council building was finished -thankfully repairs were superficial- it serves as a sort of base of operations, a safe place to rest and discuss future plans.

Nagruk's camp is the next location reclaimed and was quickly being filled with refugees trying to return to homes that were no longer there. It has its own darkness to flush out, but doing so is not nearly as energy consuming and is completed within a month. Once the civilians are settled many of them begin working on the restoration of Cyl Og Sul. The once thriving town seems to sprout up overnight.

All of this rebuilding requires tons upon tons of stone and wood. Upon receiving permission from Dashau, the Orgs are able to harvest from the Banori Tanglewoods to the north. The stone is being taken from the plentiful formations to the west, which will eventually be carved into a road connecting the east and west sides of the kingdom more directly than the river. Breaking through to the other side allows for better access to supplies and extra hands.

The reconstruction is considered complete a mere week before the advent of the second anniversary. But the work is far from done. Now that there is a kindom, there is need for king. More so a queen. The elders of every village, every race, gather in the council building to fully discuss potential successors, however some of those present feel as if doing so is a moot point.

Jirina waits in one of the small apartments in the council building, having more or less lived here for the last few months it feels as good a place to be as any. She is alone, pacing, but briefly. She feels the slightest, anxious charge work through her when there is a knock on the door. With little delay she demands whoever it is to enter.

Mezzick, taller now with longer hair and the faint makings of facial hair around his mouth, sticks his head in before stepping the rest of the way through. "The mechanic is here to see you."

"Oh? Send him in then."

The younger Org moves aside and allows Clemett room to come inside. "Hey there, big gal. What's shakin'?"

"A great deal, if I am understanding you. Please, won't you sit?" the offer is awkward, almost out of place coming from her.

"Maybe in a minute." however he does pull his cannon from his shoulder to prop on the wall, just to get the extra weight off his back. "I'd ask how the restoration's coming along, but I got a real good look on my way. You're doing a damn fine job down here."

She only nods. "What is it you need, Clemett?"

"Mostly just news exchange. Captain, my captain is worryin' about you all. Also the Archmage sent a new crop of kids with me to relieve any of them that want to go home. I offered to escort them since I was already on my way down."

"Ah, wise decision. Mezzick,"

The boy's attention snaps forward.

"Get the human's together, let them know they can leave if they wish."

With a silent nod he's gone.

Clemett doesn't voice his next thought, not right away. For a moment he just watches her, noticing how her whole form seems...uncomfortable.

"What's going on?"

"Hm?"

"Somethin' ain't right, I can tell."

"Oh no, it's nothing wrong." she shakes her head, long sable hair tossing slightly. "The elders are...convening."

"What about?"

"Who will ascend the throne."

"Ah, I see. I remember the head mentioning that before. Speaking of which, is it true you kicked him across the courtyard?"

"Not the courtyard, no."

"But you _did_ kick him?"

"...Only once."

He laughs, a heavy hand smacking his thigh. "But in all seriousness -iffin' you want my opinion that is,"

"Do I ever?"

"...that's not the point. I think if anyone's qualified to run this outfit it's you."

For a moment she just stares, brow furrowed beneath the visor for a moment, perhaps trying to decipher his particular phrasing. "I believe many here would agree with you." she takes a chance to answer.

"And why wouldn't they? Look at all this! Look at what you've managed to accomplish in two years compared to Hokum's twenty."

"The _people_ have done all this, not I." she crosses her arms and shakes her head again.

"Yeah, but _you_ showed 'em how. You stepped up, and you can't convince me otherwise."

She knows that well enough, having tried to do just that and failing many times with many others.

"I mean, you don't want another scum bucket in that chair, do you?"

"Of course I don't!" she snaps with unintentional force. "I mean...no. But I don't want it either! I have been a slave since I was a child, I do not _wish_ to be a servant _any longer_."

His goggles catch the light as he cocks his head, and for the moment he says nothing. Again he just watches as she starts pacing again.

"Who would you pick then?"

"That's an unfair question." she's controlling, she knows and the Gadegeteer knows. Everything has to be _just so_. That coupled with Jirina's pride and boundless need to be independent...she doesn't know how to choose anyone good enough to ascend in her stead. She knows the needs of the throne, knows what it will take in order keep the kingdom until the council can take it back.

"Well, life ain't fair, big gal. You know that."

"Indeed." she growls.

Before another exchange can begin there is another gentle tap at the door, going by almost missed. Xero lets himself in, Mezzick close behind him. Jirina watches as he greets Clemett with a customary handshake and nod before directing his attention to her.

"Clemett has informed you of the new arrivals?"

"Yes. Will any of them be staying?"

"All but four of the original dozen will be returning to the academy. I suppose the dark down here doesn't suit them."

"What do you make of the new lot?"

"About as much as I did when the first of them came. We'll see. They seem eager, though." he smiles and nods, but the expression is short lived. "The elders have come to a decision. They want to speak with you."

Jirina swallows hard, her heart beat spiking for a moment. Eventually she nods, resigned.

"Do you want us to come with? Are we allowed?" Clemett asks as she pushes passed him.

"You are my brothers, I would not be here without you." and she leaves the room, expecting them to follow.

The eyes of twenty men and women, Toparri, gray Orgs, and Banori fall on her and she feels the weight of them, like being pushed down by the shoulders. She meets them all the same, upright and unwavering. At the heart of everything is Dashau, Jakir, and the governor of Pay's Hom.

"You summoned me."

Jakir smiles. "Yes. We've come to a consensus. It is by the authority of the majority that we ask you to take the throne as empress of Wyldern."

She swallows, feeling the weight on her shoulders intensify.

"What say you?"

Jirina takes a breath. "If it is the will of the people...I will. Until such time as a council sits again."

All three of them nod once in unison, the gesture almost unsettling.

"You will be given a week to prepare. Feel free to choose your advisers, contemplate your position...whatever you may need." Dashau continues. "The coronation will be held in the palace. A fine start to a new era, wouldn't you agree?"

"We shall see." is her only response. "Is there any other way I can be of service? If not I would like to take the initiative with my...contemplation."

"By all means." Jakir gestures with his hand towards the still open door, an escape that he notices the she-Org almost too eager to make. But he can't fault her. All of this is surely a great deal to take in.

Jirina walks ahead of her companions, her steps quick, and they allow her the space she puts between them. They sense what she is feeling and thus find no offense when she shuts herself back into her room, effectively locking them out. They go about their respective business, finding things to busy themselves, each quietly hoping for the best and expecting the worst.

Jirina would emerge several hours later, finding the corridors mostly empty as now it is quite late. The compact restriction of her room had finally become too much, she needed fresh air and a walk to settle her nerves. She wanders out of he council building and out into its paved courtyard, quickly focusing on the few bushes and saplings beginning to grow in once empty plots. She spots one of the new student mages sitting cross legged on the ground, scribbling in a book as he appears to be studying the plants as well.

She walks a semi-circle about the place before moving on, walking along a marble marked path that would take her around the entire building if she continues. But she only walks half of its length before stopping just outside the council archives. She looks down at Xero sitting on the steps, book in hand. It's as if he senses her there more than sees her, as his head snaps up with little surprise evident on his aged face.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes." she nods once, hands folded behind her. "Could we speak?"

"Of course." he closes the book and he shows his hand, granting her leave to begin.

"...I wish to apologize."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am sorry...for my previous behavior."

Saints alive, twice. "W-what do you mean?"

"You have always been so patient. Yet I have been -as you say- stubborn. Unreasonable. Even...unkind to you. I hope you would forgive me."

"Is this for kicking me over the grove?"

"Not just that." she clears her throat, eyes averted for a moment. "Many other things as well. I do not know how to accept help I do not request or do not think I need."

"You've made that abundantly clear." he nods.

"But I should be giving thanks instead of chastising you. You do it because we are friends, not because you mean to embarrass me."

"Of course not. Never." he smiles when she meets his gaze again, humbled by her sudden show of grace. "I accept your apology."

"Thank you."

He half expects her to simply continue on her way, but when she lingers, curiosity crinkles his features. "Is there...something else?"

"I have an... _enormous_ favor to ask of you."

"Oh?"

"Yes." she takes a breath, checking her courage before speaking again. "I would have you as my Premier... if you would do me the privilege."

"Premier?"

"My personal counselor." she pauses with a short shake of her head. "I would understand completely if you refuse."

"Is that so?" he strokes his mustache at first then hooks his chin with one finger. "Well...I have to know why you would ask _me_. If I may be so bold."

Her mouth fumbles the first word, forcing her to bite her own lip to straighten her thoughts. Jirina takes another deep breath. "All I know is what my life has taught me. How to be empress is certainly _not_ one of those things. But you...you understand these things. You've lived them, albeit many centuries ago. I am not a...a diplomat, I am a warrior. If defending this kingdom were all that was required of me I would have no need to make such a request of you."

Xero's smile comes back and steadily widens. Not that he is amused, heavens no, he has too much respect for Jirina for her discomfort to entertain him. It's more so out of recognition that she is trusting him with something precious; her vulnerability. A rare gift indeed. When she finishes her explanation and waits for his response, he doesn't force her to wait long.

"First of all, let me assure you, my lady, that no king ever reigned completely on his own. There has been and always will be someone behind the throne, so you should find no shame in admitting you cannot do it alone." He notices the way her stance slightly relaxes, her once squared shoulders softening. "Second, it would be my honor...on the premise that you will not separate my head from my body again under _any_ circumstances."

She smiles with a breathy chuckle. "You drive a hard bargain."

Xero stands, brushing out his clothes and tucking his hands behind him per the usual. "Perhaps, but those are my terms."

Jirina smiles knowingly. "Very well...and thank you."

When he motions to shake her hand, one can imagine his overwhelming shock when she embraces him. Both arms completely encompassing him and pulling to nearly lift him off the ground.

The week passes by like a breeze in Summer; brief, heated, almost missed when it ends. Somehow so much was accomplished in so little time. Banners and tapestries recovered from the bowels of the palace, secret stores in the council building, and all across the kingdom now hang proud and pristine throughout Tyr Og Nor. The market garden located on the lower level is in full bloom with bright blossoms and ivy, a natural spring acting as its centerpiece. After the coronation it will be open to the public so visiting merchants might sell their wares.

For the first time in years the streets of Cyl Og Sul are full of people and sound. Children run the dirt pathways in unified packs, wild and joyful shrieks cutting the air. Musicians practice in pods by the castle entrance. Men and women go about their morning business before the festivities, pushing carts of goods or herding animals to their pens. A young couple go to the sanctuary to consult a priest. Banori and Toparri bleed into the throngs of gray Orgs as if they belong. As if it should have been this way all along.

It is much more quiet within the palace, the air feels a little heavier. Armed guards shadow most if not all of the major entrances and exits, still as statues. The place feels mostly empty, but that simply isn't true. All of the elders and governors and other dignitaries are gathered in the throne room, patiently waiting.

Jirina stands in the middle of her private chambers, straightening her new clothes for the hundredth time. The cloth is heavy, old, not worn since the last Orgish emperor from a year she wasn't alive for. The tunic and mantle are dyed rich shades of indigo and blue, like processed hexite, with pitch black in the lining. Runes of status are woven in gold thread along the chest level hem of the mantle. Around her waist is a broad leather belt decorated with a lavishly ornate buckle, metal worked into the snarling visage of a Traagh -a four tusked and wild eyed looking thing with a hunk of glowing, unprocessed hexite sitting in its mouth. Supposedly it was worn by Orgran himself. Hanging from it are strips of fabric that almost reach her ankles, blue and black hues blurring when she walks. The abbreviated tabard marked with her Org-Ta runes is draped in its usual place, in plain view for all to recognize.

She turns to Xero. "How do I look?"

The Mage Warrior has foregone the traditional Premier's attire for his usual garb. What they were expecting of him revealed far too much skin and he was of no mind to allow the gods and everyone to see the seams of his artificial body. Instead he wears a necklace of large hexite hemispheres, each of them glowing a bright blue even in patches of darkness.

He smiles. "Ready."

Jirina catches Mezzick's gaze as she takes a breath, feeling a little more confident as he nods in shared approval. She returns the gesture, eyes moving once more. "Mechanic?"

"Darlin', if Gadgeteers could cry, this one would be bawlin'." he chuckles a little and then clears his throat. "Now let's get this party going before I start getting sentimental."

She feels the sharp prick of humility in her heart. "Thank you all...for being here. For staying with me. I meant what I said before...you are my brothers."

"We know, good lady. There was never any doubt." Xero leans into a collection of steps, stopping at the chamber door to open it. "Shall we?"

The quiet murmurs in the throne room settle to dead silence as iron hinges groan and the large wooden doors are pulled wide. All eyes are on the she-Org and her attendants as they walk with confident strides down the aisle formed by equal halves of a sizable crowd towards the throne. Jakir is waiting for her, another Toparri just behind him with a cushion resting atop her hands.

At the foot of the throne they separate, Jirina kneeling while Xero and the others step aside. She waits, the only sound she registers is the pounding of her own anxious heart. She feels every pair of eyes bearing down on her, and part of her wishes it would just end.

"Are you certain?"

Her chin jerks slightly upward, though she doesn't look up at Jakir when he whispers. She swallows, answering before she gives herself the chance to think twice. "I am."

His reaction is subtle, a curt nod that is missed by most. He turns to the other Toparri now beside him and collects a gold chain and pendant in both hands. Then he speaks in a way that everyone can hear him.

"By the will of the people, and the power vested in me by the same, I entrust to you the Seal of Orgran." he bends to slip the chain over her head. His hands don't fully pull away until he's certain it rests properly around her neck.

Gooseflesh rises on her skin at the cool metal of the chain. And though it seems such a small token, Jirina feels the weight of the world in it. When Jakir gestures with his hand for her to stand up, she briefly wonders if she's physically able. But she does just that without a second thought. There is no more time to be uncertain, no room to show her still lingering anxiety. She watches as he gestures again, this time for her to turn and face the congregation.

"So long as you bear its burden you will be the defender of the people and keeper of Wyldern. Upholder of the law and all that is just. First in war and last in peace." he steps away from the throne with his companion, now appearing more part of the crowd. "So it is with great honor that I present to the people her majesty Empress Jirina Stone Soul. With grace and mercy may she reign."

Jirina feels a shudder charge her entire body as she sees them all move. Dashau, Jakir, all of them kneel before her in the way a wave recedes from the shore. If she were anyone else, she would feel proud. Instead she feels...disgusted.

"No. Stand up." she moves away from the throne and into the sea of people, kneeling down to help them stand, shaking her head with firm lines of displeasure around her mouth. "I will not accept this."

They all look on in shock and confusion. Some of them even seem horrified.

Her heart is racing, heat pounds through her body in time with it. "Some of you here...in this room..." she almost can't finish. Part of her threatens to recoil, but she forces her head up, "and out there in the city...across the kingdom...some of us have spent our entire lives on our knees. For the rest of us it has been... _twenty. Long. Years_ since we were able to stand upright with pride and dignity. I believe it is time for us - _all of us_ \- to see each other as equals, as not one of us here is greater or lesser than the other. After today there will be no more bowing. No more kneeling, most of all to _me_."

Everyone in attendance begins to exchange frantic glances with one another, though none of them have the nerve to say a word. Not while it appears that the empress has more to say.

"You chose me to be your voice, so I will speak for you. You chose me to protect you, and I will do so to the very last beat of my heart. I am not here to lead...I am here to serve. All I will do and accomplish as empress, will be for the sake of the people."

Now she waits, making quick quarter turns in place so she may see their faces, gauge their reaction to her -what she is certain- highly unusual behavior.

The heavy air is then shattered by cheering and thundering applause.

Author's Note: Still a dork. Still don't know why I'm doing it, only that I'm doing it at all. Strange, I haven't written with this much confidence in a long while. It's coming smoothly and with notable consistency. Eh, probably just gas. Anyway, hope you're enjoying it. If not, my apologies. Any questions? Feel free to toss them my way.


	8. Chapter 8

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Eight**

Jirina Stone Soul's first official act as empress was to tear down the gods-awful, half mile high carving of Hokum's horrid visage from the side of Big Mesa. With her magic she was able to push back on the monument until the image disappeared, swallowed up by the rock. And while the original image of Orgran would never be restored, it being blank is still preferable.

Once the commotion of the coronation eased away she continues on to other projects. Now that most if not all of the refugees have permanent homes, Nagruk's camp is used in the manner it was built for. Reinstating Wyldern's military quickly becomes one of the greatest undertakings the empress addresses. Greater still is the endeavor to restore the Org-Ta. To her knowledge at the time, she and Ashan-mai are the only Wyldernian born Org-Ta in the entire kingdom. Yet he is still nowhere to be found. Mezzick has years to go yet, to learn. Still, it all will come in time, as everything does.

She spends hours daily in her private quarters with her Premier and apprentice -with occasional visits from Dashau and Jakir- going over reams and reams of old scrolls from the royal and council archives, laws and edicts centuries old that she feels a gut wrenching need to review and amend when necessary. Though there is very little of the latter, one scroll is wholly thrown away, burned even, as it dictated the systematic separation of the races by wealth, property, and trade. There is no longer room for such things in Wyldern. That age is long gone.

The very last thing the empress concerns herself with is taxes. Yes, the empire needs money to function, but so do the people. Without wealth in the general population's hands, the economy would surely stagnate. In spite of great disapproval from the court -the nature of which Jirina gives absolutely no damn for- the empress refuses to enforce taxation. It will make time for hexite to begin regular circulation, just until people are confident to spend again. As for the palace's financial needs, small monthly fees are paid by the merchants selling in the palace market. If she is still on the throne in five years, she makes note to reassess the situation then.

Presently, the empress is _tired_. Her first year on the throne has proven to be one of the most draining experiences of her life. Her sleeping patterns have always been atrocious, no more than four hours any given night, and they're not consecutive. Its been that way since she was a child working in the mines, it was all the sleep they were allowed. But that coupled with the constant worry over affairs of state and a creeping sense of impotence brought on by being sequestered to the palace most hours of the day makes it feel like she doesn't sleep at all.

Now she sits at her desk -she's quietly amazed she uses it considering she has never had one- hunched in her seat. She has her hands folded together in front of her, elbows propping her up to help resist the urge to put her head down and perhaps sleep for a minute. Jirina forces herself to stare through the black glass lenses of the visor at the small collection of papers laid out in front of her, arranged from the first to the last. Letters. _Threatening_ letters. From Ashan-mai. Thankfully they are short and to the point, each one either implying or outright saying the same thing. _Abdicate or I take your city_. And through the course of the correspondence _I_ eventually became _we_.

Fear never crosses her mind, there is no anxious ripple in her heart. Instead she feels a mix of frustration and quiet fury. What reasons could any Org-Ta have to incite civil war? Even now when the kingdom is still trying to recover? Jirina already knows the answer, the nature of the letters makes it very clear. What they do _not_ reveal, however, is Ashan's current whereabouts, which leaves her unable to act. At least within reason. So she waits, remaining mostly quiet about her concerns. Only Xero knows anything about it.

She shuffles the papers together and returns them to their place in her desk, standing up and moving across the room, pushing through a heavy curtain to stand on the balcony. From here she can see Big Mesa and the length of the Emperor's Road. If she squints she can spot the faintest traces of the Toppari Groves to the northwest. The rest of the landscape is blocked by the mountain cradling the palace. Jirina tilts her chin up to look at the peak, its uneven edges, taking in a slow breath as deeply as her body allows. She holds it for a split second, focusing momentarily on the _thump-thump_ of blood in her ears before exhaling.

"Your majesty?"

She doesn't turn her head, only brings it level again. "I didn't hear you come in, old man."

"My apologies. The court is ready to receive you."

"Very well." Can't have that lofty cushion staying cold for too long.

As have numerous rulers before her, Jirina opens the throne room to the public in order to hear any grievances the people may have directly from them. There might have been a dozen such circumstances in the last year, a vast majority of them related to food shortages. There were a handful of boundary disputes that had to be delicately put to rest. Otherwise her time spent in this chamber is...unremarkable.

Before she can even sit down the massive wood and iron doors swing open. So she decides to stand and watch as a sizable pod of people come through them. Well, not what most would consider calling _people._

"Oh my." Xero's brows jump towards his hairline.

"Devorians."

There are a dozen of them and not a one is less than seven feet tall. The steady _chock-chock_ of hooves echoes through the chambers as they walk together. Hides of various colors cover stout, muscular frames; dark brown, white, jet black, even spotted. All have horns and pricked ears, bovine snouts, though the females' features are diminished in comparison to the males. They appear tired, their hide and cloth clothing frayed and dirty, they look at the empress with weary and desperate eyes. The one who leads them is _very_ pregnant and limping.

Jirina approaches them. "Welcome to Tyr Og Nor; please, can I provide anything for you?"

They all stop with the same shocked expression, clearly not expecting this sort of reception. What few belongings they had brought with them to the palace had been confiscated before they were allowed in, so one can imagine what impression that had given them.

When they do not answer she half turns to Xero and asks him to arrange for food and water to be brought, as well as a chair. The Devorians still can't speak as more gray Orgs appear to tend to them, offering trays of mushrooms and fruit and pints of water. The one who walks at the front is offered the chair.

"You are... _most_ generous, empress." she sits, seeming so relieved to finally do so.

Jirina nods. "What is your name? What brings you here?"

"I am Ura, I'm acting chief as my mother has taken ill. My people and I have been living upriver for several decades now but...the land can no longer support us. It has soured."

"I see. How many of you are there?"

"Three score...many of them children and elderly. We have many sick."

"Where are you staying?"

"Just outside of your city, in the hills. We did not wish to draw any...unwanted attention."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're welcome here. So you came for asylum?"

"We would hope, your majesty," Ura pauses to take another drink, "that you would gift us a suitable amount of property to settle on. We have no ancestral land here in the valley...and we have no money. But we would be willing to give almost _anything_..."

For a moment she doesn't speak, thinking. She listens carefully as Xero offers quiet advice from over her shoulder. In reality, she has already made her choice, but still she chooses to hear him, weigh her thoughts.

"Do you think the people would find them agreeable neighbors? I beg the question more so in regard to their safety."

"I know, Xero, and I appreciate the thought. It is a valid point. But they need a place to stay, though sixty people is a little more than we can suitably lodge here. Any suggestions?"

"Perhaps temporary placement, just until the arrangements are made for a permanent location."

His idea walks the line of her own, making her nod.

"I know we are asking for so much, your majesty, but-,"

"What can you offer the empire?"

"I," she stops, again surprised, "well...I'm sure you can see that we are rather... _big_...we're naturally strong, even in our youth, so we would be suitable for any manual labor you have available. We are also skilled warriors."

"I know. I've seen Devorians fight before." she almost smiles. She killed the last two Devorians she had ever met. "During the war."

"Oh," she didn't seem too happy to hear, "my brother died in the war."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No...he was fighting for the wrong side. Greevus deserved what he got."

Jirina mentally cringes. Hard.

"I'm sorry if he caused you any misery."

Then the tension eases, a strange and sudden shift. "Oh...well...thank you. Um...can you provide any material goods? Wares to sell?"

"W-well...not much at the moment. We had to barter most of what we own to survive the trip here. But, if you would allow me to have my travel pack, I could show you."

"Of course." with her hand she gestures to the guards at the door who promptly comply to fetch Ura's belongings. They bring a single, worn leather duffel with straps threatening to pull away from weakened seams.

"I don't mean to sound...too proud, but I believe you will not find finer woven goods than ours." she pulls free and unfurls a blanket, richly dyed and patterned with all sorts of angled and swirling shapes. Xero audibly gasps from over the empress' shoulder. "We make other things, but _these_ are our _treasures_." large dark eyes lift to meet Jirina's. "Please, take it. It's a gift for your generosity."

"But I haven't given you anything yet."

"You welcomed us and gave us food, we didn't even have to ask." she smiles, almost in awe of what she had said though they are her own words.

Jirina almost smiles. "Very well, but I will not accept something so exquisite for nothing."

Before she can say another word, her gaze is torn away from her guests and to the gray blur she catches in the corner of her eye. Mezzick runs through the doors without a sound and maintains his steady gait until he comes to her side.

Ura watches as the two Orgs and the strange pale looking one go back and forth in whispers for several minutes. Surprise stretches her features when the empress tears away and starts marching towards the doors. The pale one follows, shouting after her. Then she catches the younger Org staring, and only smiles when he says "So you're not just in stories."

"Your majesty, I _highly encourage_ you to stop for a moment and think about this!" he doesn't have the right to tell her what to do, but by the gods he's going to skate that line as close as he can.

"I've been thinking about it for weeks." she keeps walking with heavy footed and hurried strides down the corridor. The knock of stone soles loud to the marble. "Now I'm going to _deal with it_."

"How can you be so damn _sure_ of what he's up to?"

She snaps to a stop and spins to face him. "How can you _not_ be so sure?! I showed you the letters! Ashan has shown his hand!"

"Ashan is probably bluffing."

"Org-Ta do not bluff! Even if he is," she bare believes that she even considers the idea, "I'm not about to test that. This will end _today_."

"So you're just going to kill a man?" he counters, sharp toned.

"If that is my only option, then yes." She gives him a resolute nod. "See that the Devorians are properly accommodated until I get back."

Xero watches her walk away again, mustache steadily puckering in a hard scowl. "One of these days you are going to actually _heed me_ , and by Undrash's _bald spot_ , the shock alone will kill me!"

"If it suits you, old man."

()

Jirina knows exactly what Ashan-mai wants, can almost read it on his face when she finally meets with him outside the gates of Cyl Og Sul. He stands there with his arms crossed, the slightest upturn to a corner of his mouth. He's wearing armor with spiked iron bands strapped across his knuckles. He is ready for a fight.

Jirina quietly commands the gates be left open as she walks through, then her eyes fix anew to him. Her lips form a dark, thin line as she comes to within ten paces of him and stops.

"Generous of you to come down from your lofty perch, _empress._ "

"Where have you been, Ashan? Your hands were sorely missed as we rebuilt."

"I had my own matters to attend to. Matters that brought me here."

"And wrote those letters?"

"I suppose so, yes." He laughs, a casual puff of air and a shake of his head. Somehow she can feel him eying the gold seal around her neck. "So will you abdicate? Spare your city destruction a second time?"

Jirina mentally cringes, having heard him make the demand with his own mouth. In each of the letters, not once was there mention of bringing down the empire. Not one ounce of ink scrawled in crying for a free nation. It had all been about him assuming the throne.

"Now that the work is done you come here, expecting me to step down and hand it all over to you?"

"With your citizens' lives at risk of my army's blades...well, yes. I do."

Behind the visor her eyes thin on him. She studies him, watches how his posture never changes, how all of his body language is being broadcast from the lines around his mouth. He's playing to her sense of duty, the vow she took to protect Wyldern at all costs.

"You want Cyl Og Sul?" to her the question in rhetorical. "Very well. Have your army take it then."

The corner of his mouth twists, he says nothing.

"If your men can get passed me, even one, you can have the city. I'll even give you the seal myself."

Still silent. Jirina even goes so far as to step aside, offering an almost welcoming gesture with her hand towards the main gates.

 _Org-Ta do not bluff. But, clearly, he is not Org-Ta._

Ashan only stares at her, his expression steadily wringing tighter and tighter into a sort of scowl. His hands eventually drop and clench at his sides, his feet shifting. Then finally he snarls " _Give me the throne_!"

" _Show me you're strong enough to take it_!" she counters quickly, equally fierce. " _Show me you can do more than hide in your garrison while the rest of us struggle to survive_!"

The accusation sets him off. Finally he hears it said to his face what he has always thought was said about him behind his back. His entire body lurches into action, breaking into a full sprint towards Jirina. The empress takes a moment to tuck Orgran's Seal beneath her tunic. She has no desire to get blood on it.

Ashan is easily ten years or more Jirina's senior, and it shows in how he fights. That and his apprenticeship had been poorly mishandled indeed. Not to say he isn't strong. He most certainly is, enough to make the empress wary of allowing him to lay so much as a finger on her. And Ashan is fast, but there is nearly no precision in his movements. They seem wild and untrained. She can read him easily. The few times he comes close enough to strike her, she deflects the blow with her hands.

But he is certainly _persistent_. Were his aspirations not so skewed, he could have been a fine ally.

Jirina manages to strike him soundly in the chest, leaving a dent shaped like her palm in the center of his metal breastplate.

"Yield, Ashan. I don't want to kill you, but I will."

"I don't want your mercy, I want _your hide_!"

The next blow she lands is with her fist, and it is with enough force that she swears she feels one of his ribs give. She will strike him three more times before forcing him on his back with a sweep of her leg to the backs of his knees. He lays there, panting, his hands circling her ankle as she puts her foot down and presses on his chest.

She glares down her nose at him. "For the last time, do you _yield_?"

Ashan struggles, pushing up against her, but only briefly. He says nothing, only nodding as he lets go, arms flopping to the ground.

Jirina offers her hand to help him up. He takes her by the wrist, bracing as she pulls him to his feet. With the momentum behind him he lurches forward, catching her in the side with the steel spikes on his knuckles. He doesn't get the reaction he expects. Ashan expects this _woman_ to cry out in pain, crippled by his cunning. Instead there is a sound more akin to a snarling beast and the sharp sting of the back of her stone hand connecting with his cheekbone.

He's on the ground again, face down. Then he feels the distinct sensation of flying through the air as the empress snatches a handful of his hair and _pulls_ , tossing him around like a sack of flour until he's on his back again. Now she looms over him, down on one knee, seeming to completely ignore her wound. He panics at the feeling of her hands closing around his head, one hand clasping tight to her wrist, and the other thrusting upward twice more before she kills him. With one great roar of fury she forces her thumbs through the glass lenses of his visor, pushing straight through until she feels the resistance of the back of his skull.

Jirina staggers to her feet, eyes still fixed on his body. The disgust roils up beside the anger, right beside the primitive desire to pound away at the remains until they are unrecognizable. Instead she sneers at the tabard that bears his runes, not thinking twice about how to touch them would kill her as she kneels down and tears the stretch of cloth away from him. The runes do not shimmer with violent retaliation at her touch. In fact, now that she sees them, they aren't even woven in the customary way. They are fake.

The empress tosses it to the ground, pulling the heavy belt around her waist a little higher to hide the wounds in her side. She marches back into the city, the gates closing behind her with no regard from the keepers towards the body laying just outside of them. She strides into the palace as if nothing is wrong; composed, showing no pain or fatigue, and she only pauses a moment to pull the seal from beneath her clothes. Spotless.

"Let it be written into law," she shouts loud enough for her voice to ring through the corridors, "anyone convicted under the charges of impersonating an Org-Ta warrior is to be immediately _executed_!" It will be the first and last order of such severity that she makes.

Jirina doesn't speak to Xero when their paths cross again, nor does she even acknowledge Mezzick's presence as she pushes to return to the quiet sanctity of her quarters. There is no chance for them to see the blood smeared across her thigh as it rolls down her leg. She needs the soothing touch of isolation, she needs the quiet to understand all of this.

She slams the door shut and moves towards her desk, heavily sitting on the cushioned stool. For a moment she is still, trying to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her face and neck. Her body throbs in time with her heart. She then looks down, spying the bright blue streaks of her own blood on her stomach. With a little care she peels the belt away from her skin, getting a look at the injuries. Pulling leather apart from skin brings on a burning sting, dislodging something from the opening in her flesh. She pulls the object out by pinching it between the index and social finger of her other hand. It's one of the spikes from Ashan's knuckle dusters. She spies the red brown stain of rust on the chunk of iron.

Jirina tries to stand and can't. She feels the heavy heat of dizziness settle in her head as she tries again, still unsuccessful. Her leg won't move and she tips back on the stool, falling flat on her back. The room spins around her and then there is nothing.

 _(II)_

 _Stinger,_

 _I hope this letter catches you in time. I hate to ask, but it may be better that you not visit me for a while. A week or two at most. I've caught the flu, and it will be about that long before I'm no longer at risk of spreading it to someone else. On the bright side, I've got a lot more time to catch up on my reading._

 _How's the harbor construction coming? Has the winter weather caused any delays? We had snow here last week, and the knights were kind enough to actually let me go outside for a while. Not without Sir George of course. It's still strange for me to acknowledge how long I've been here. Three years. Wow. Still no word from the council as to whether or not I'll have to stay longer. Here's hoping I don't._

 _Hope you and the others are doing well, and please tell them I said hello and am thinking of them. I'm going to try and get some sleep. I love you._

 _Windleaf_

 _Wind,_

 _You got the creeping crud too, huh? No kidding. The council put me up at Mayor Brady's place until I get better. Frankly, I'd be happy if my nose would just stop trying to run off my face._

 _The harbor construction is still on schedule for the most part, about a year away from completion now. It's going to be something to see. But the winter has pushed us back a little. The bay freezes overnight, but not so solid it can't be broken up with a little elbow grease._

 _Like I said, I'm rooming with the mayor for now, so I hear a lot of things. Though I can't say I've heard anything about your sentence. And I'm a little too cautious to ask him out right, you know, conflicting interest and everything. Last thing I want to do is upset him over it. But who knows, he might give you a break._

 _Rumor has it Griffon is seeing a woman now, same rumors say she's a Navigator. Don't know how true it is, but it sounds exciting to me. Kids are going to be funny looking, though, you know? Seeing as Metabolinians are that weird purple color. Not to mention the last Mage King marrying a Navigator...Keerg only knows what will come out of that. Funny how the world's changing around us, isn't it?_

 _Sorry I got so long winded. I miss talking to you. Let me know as soon as you're well enough for visitors, okay? And I love you too._

 _Stinger_

 _(III)_

Vivid and fractured dreams bleed across her slumbering mind like oil and water. They wax and wane without any discernible pattern, some swelling to devour others. Places she has been, things she's seen, things she's done. Normally she doesn't sleep long enough to dream, but this sleep feels like a short eternity. So deep down, untouchable by the light. There is sound, or what her mind perceives as sound. Like listening to thunder from beneath the water's surface. And voices, so many voices. She knows them, recalls names and faces for most of them even though they crash together. The commotion of a thousand ghoulbirds in flight, dry bones and screeching.

It's the screeching that wakes her up. Sweat rolls down her face as she jerks to sit up, features twisted in a hard wince at the tearing burn in her side. She ignores it the best she can, fighting with blankets that have wrapped themselves around her in the worst way. She just _can't stand_ being in bed a moment longer, and with a great push of her arms she manages to stand up.

"Your majesty, please don't-,"

Jirina feels hands on her and swats them away, unable to stomach the physical contact while she's so focused on having to force her leg to work properly. She almost trips as she moves from her bed chamber and into the main area of her room, stumbling for the desk. A stack of scrolls topples over as she recovers from another potential fall. Her side is throbbing now, white hot pounding that works down the length of her left leg. Her stone toes curl at the pain, her head rests in her hands.

"Majesty...Jirina?"

She has to force the faint echo of sound to focus in her mind, become understandable. " _What_."

"You should get back to bed." Xero is just beside her, has been in the room the entire time. He speaks softly. "You're still quite ill."

"First," she pants a little, " _water_."

"Of course."

A pitcher and glass are brought as quickly as possible. She doesn't bother with the cup, snatching the jug from Xero's hand and proceeding to drink the entirety of its contents in one attempt. It quenches her thirst but does nothing to stifle the oppressive heat coursing through her.

"Perhaps you would like a blanket?"

"I'm sweating out of my skin." she groans.

"Yes, but at the moment, your skin is all you are _wearing_."

Another groan, a smaller one. "Very well. If you please,"

He only nods and moves back to the bedchamber to fetch what he had convinced her to ask for. He feels some relief when she pulls it around her, not because she's covered but because she accepts advice for a change. "What else can I do for you, dear?"

Jirina cringes behind one hand still pressed to her hot, slick face. "The pain...it's almost too much."

"I'll go find Miss Riada then."

She manages to lift her head. "Who?"

Xero stops and turns back, pausing for a moment. Jirina isn't wearing her visor, this is the first time he has ever seen her face unobstructed. Thin black brows crease together in both curiosity and discomfort. Her eyes have no visible pupils but pale blue irises that are fixed on him, meeting his gaze.

"Well?"

"Oh, my apologies. She's one of the mages from the academy, remember?"

"There have been _several_."

"Oh come now, she's been working here for more than a year. She helped _cleanse_ the place." he's distracted again with the flicker of emotion across her face. "Perhaps it'll come to you when you see her. I'll be back, and Mezzick is just outside should you need anything before I return."

She's content to simply be still, anything to keep her from feeling -at the very least- any worse. Thankfully she doesn't have to wait very long. Jirina lifts her head again at the sound the door swinging open, making an effort to focus on the Siltherian girl the moment she comes into view.

"Ah, yes," she nods slowly, head feeling so heavy, "the tiny one."

"To you, _everyone_ is tiny." Xero counters. True, Jirina is much larger than what is considered typical, but -now that he thinks of it- Riada Taj'hal is smaller than what may be considered average. She might be five feet tall.

"Mezzick is bigger than her."

"Well, regardless of her stature, Miss Riada has been instrumental to your care for the last week, so please-,"

" _Week_?"

"Oh yes," Xero's tone suggest she should already be aware of this, "you became violently ill rather quickly. She found you shortly after you dealt with Ashan and you were already running a high fever."

"Which it seems you still have, your majesty." the younger mage adds gently.

Jirina briefly glares at her, contemplative. She takes a shaky breath and pushes her fingers over her scalp. "Rust."

"What's that?"

"Some of us Orgs have a...what's the word...allergy?" she waits and watches both of them nod. "We have a reaction to it...like a poison when it gets in our blood. Ashan's weapons had rust on them."

"Saints alive," Xero breathes quietly.

"You remember, old man, when I was so sick before? When you found me?"

"Ah, yes, but you didn't mention it then."

"I wasn't of the mind to." and it was the truth. Jirina had been _much_ sicker then, much weaker.

"Empress?"

"Yes?"

"The Premier tells me you're still in pain. May I?"

"Of course. Do what you must."

Jirina swallows her pride and stomachs a close inspection by the smaller woman, biting her lip against a spark of discomfort when she starts pulling on the bandages. She chances to look down, see what the injuries have become. Six puncture wounds are stitched sparingly, just enough to close the half inch wide openings. They're blistered around the edges, a couple of them seeping with puss from the rust reaction.

"I don't see how you managed to get out of bed, your majesty. Though I'll admit I'm impressed. A normal person would have likely died."

"You'll find out, Miss Riada, that her royal _stubbornness_ is far from normal." Xero breaks the tension in the air with a mild jab. He had hoped for a reaction -even a negative one- but the empress' attention is not for him.

"What is this you have written on me, human?" she sees fine, swirling script on her skin in stark black ink. The glyphs work in circles around the wounds.

"Enchantments of my own design." she seems proud to reply. "I'm still perfecting the technique, but they're meant to nurture a more complete recovery through prolonged, low intensity magic."

"Could you not have used a cleansing spell? Surely that would have been preferable."

"If I had known exactly what was wrong, I may have. This was much safer."

"If you say so."

Ria only smiles. "We will have to change the dressing, your majesty. Then you _must_ get back to bed, you'll be asleep soon."

"Oh will I? How so?"

"The spell; we heal better when we get proper rest. So,"

"Hah," she winces, biting back an oath, "I'd like to see that."

"As would I." Xero nods, enthusiastic. He tries not to notice when she shoots him a caustic glare.

Xero and Jirina talk in small bursts as Ria works, mostly to keep the empress distracted from any pain. It seems to work for the most part, save for one instance where the she-Org covers her mouth against a scream. She quickly recovers.

"How are the Devorians faring?"

"As well as we can hope, at the moment. Tents were set up for them in the merchant's quarter. Their sick were taken to the sanctuary for care."

She nods. "Are they ready to begin trading yet?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Be sure the proper papers are in order when they are. I'm going to put you in charge of the matter until I'm...feeling up to the task again."

"As you wish."

"You and Mezzick both will handle affairs in equal share around here until this passes."

"What should I tell anyone who asks about the situation, majesty?"

"The truth. I'm not going to hide."

Personally, he thinks that to be an _awful_ idea, but he knows she is going to do as she pleases. And she expects him to do as she asks. He had oaths to fulfill after all.

With the wounds cleaned and wrapped, Xero helps her back to bed. She feels dizziness threatening again, what little strength she has slips right out as she sits on the edge of the raised stone slab where she sleeps. Her face falls into her hands, a dull spike of pain shooting across her forehead.

"My visor,"

"It's here beside beside the bed." Xero answers. "But you should lie back down, don't worry about it now. Please."

She grumbles a sentence he can't understand, but complies to his plea. After another battle with the blankets Jirina settles on her back.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you." her expression is suddenly tender. Something Xero appears to stare at without her notice. "I have total confidence in you, my friend."

He smiles, touched, then one snowy brow slides upward. "How is it you always manage to convince me to keep putting up with you so easily?"

"Why Xero," her eyelids slide up and down, like she's fighting sleep, "don't you know? N-not a man in...my kingdom can resist...my feminine wiles."

He laughs quietly with a gentle shake of his head, watching to see if she'll stay awake much longer. Not really, no, and he can't resist a sigh of relief. The Mage Warrior puts his hands behind him and turns to leave, feeling better than he has in days.

"You did a fine job, Miss Riada." he compliments quietly, pulling a curtain across the doorway to the bed chamber. "I'm impressed."

"Thank you, Lord Premier."

"Please, you may call me Xero." He chuckles a little, perhaps still unused to the formality of his title even now. "Masterful work, though. I've seen experienced healers recoil at lesser wounds than those."

"Oh, well, that sort of thing doesn't much bother me."

"Speaking from experience?" though he fails to see how someone so young could have seen much of the side effects of violence.

"No. It's because I'm blind."

Author's Note: So yeah, there's that. I've still got more coming, though I can't say for sure what it will consist of. Mostly interpersonal relationship development and whatnot. Naturally, feel free to toss and questions my way. Otherwise, thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Nine**

"How did you know he was bluffing?"

Jirina sits cross legged on her bed, a tray of food resting on her thighs as she takes the first few confident mouthfuls in days. She still sweats from a fever, but seems otherwise well. She chews and swallows. "I had a feeling...a part of me simply refused to believe he could rally the people against me."

Xero nods slowly, mentally keen to the thought. He certainly hadn't seen evidence or heard rumor of the people being displeased with their empress.

"Though...I feel foolish." she continues cautiously. "I trusted him so readily. That isn't like me."

"Well, if I may be so bold, we all must learn to trust each other. It is the only way the kingdom will survive."

She nods, a full mouth preventing a verbal answer.

"But it's good that you made the effort. And I say that as your friend, not your adviser."

"It was an effort that could have gotten innocent people hurt."

"Everything we do comes with a mote of risk to it, my dear. No avoiding that." he watches her eventually nod, still fixed on her uncovered face. He's been staring like this a lot these days, thankfully no one seems to notice. "At the very least your heart was in the right place...and it's something to be learned from."

"Indeed."

Xero sips his tea. "And his runes? They were fake?"

"So I found out." and it comes out as a shrug riddled with disappointment. "I...I do not wish to think that I am the last of them."

"Oh dear, yes," he nods, "that is an awful feeling." and he truly understands. The last Mage Warrior. The only remnant of a bygone era. "But there's still hope, isn't there?"

"Perhaps, yes. But things will never be the same."

"Maybe that will prove to be better."

"As you said...here's to hoping." Jirina takes only a few more bites before setting the tray aside. She can't stomach anymore, feeling the gentle beckon of sleep. Last thing she wants is to be face first in her food again. So embarrassing.

Xero finishes his tea, keeping the cup in hand as he moves to retrieve her plate. "May I get you anything else?"

"Some Banori wine if we have any." she laughs a little, looking up at him with a smile. An expression he immediately admires.

"Afraid not, your majesty. No alcohol until the infection clears."

"Bah, just one glass?"

"No means no, even for you. Now I'll be off with these, Miss Ria should be here momentarily. _Try_ not to be such a bully today."

She snorts without a reply, simply not having one. With a quiet grumble she decides she doesn't need to validate herself. Pain is pain, and one can only tolerate so much. Sometimes it turns you into a bit of an asshole. Maybe more than a bit, actually.

Sure enough the human mage comes, smiling sweetly and carrying a tray of fresh bandages and other things.

"Afternoon, majesty. How are you feeling?"

Jirina breathes a sigh, partly sick of this song and dance of being asked the same thing over and over. She watches as the girl crosses the room, naturally not looking where she goes but going all the same, as if she can see. The fact that she can't still floors the gray Org in a way. It explains a lot, but it raises just as many questions as it lays down.

"Pain?" Riada sits on the edge of the stone slab turning to face her.

"It's tolerable." Although one can imagine what the empress considers tolerable might easily incapacitate the average person. She tries not to flinch as Riada reaches up and touches her face.

"Oh my, still so warm." she shakes her head, reaching back to the tray. She holds a cloth between both hands and encourages Jirina to pull her hair aside so she might drape it across her neck. It's wet and cold.

The soothing sensation pulls a long, almost leisurely groan from Jirina. It's the first real relief she's felt in some time.

"Mr. Clemett has left medicine here for us, but is there a local remedy you would prefer to use for the fever?"

"Mm. Wyld Root. Though I can't say when last I saw the stuff."

"I'll ask around." she nods. "Xero says you're eating better, that's good. How are you sleeping?"

"Through the night, strangely."

"Is that unusual for you?"

"Quite."

Riada hums to herself, making a mental note of mild interest. "Lift your arm please, majesty."

Jirina does as instructed, cupping the back of her head with her hand to allow the mage access to her wounds. She watches, anticipating the pinch and pull of her scrutiny. Old, dirty bandages are carefully cut away.

"Seems like they've stopped running. This is a good sign."

"How on earth can you tell?" she has to ask.

She laughs a little. "I've been blind for a long time, so I've learned to focus my other senses. Inflamed wounds like these have a certain...odor. I don't smell it today. And," she oh-so-gently puts her palm over the injury, over the bright blue bruises that have formed, "the flesh is always heated. It's only a little warmer than it should be now."

"Ah. I see. Uh," she catches herself, "I mean,"

"It's fine." she laughs a little more. "No need to mind such words around me, I'm not easily offended."

A small part of Jirina is amused, and for a moment she quietly watches Riada work, following quiet direction as she redresses the wounds. Then "Some of the glyphs have disappeared."

"I know. They are supposed to fade as your condition changes."

"Again, how do you know?"

"Come now, your majesty. A woman has to have her secrets." and she giggles. She bloody _giggles_. "In any case, this is all good news. You might be able to return to _some_ of your usual duties within a week or so. Provided you continue to rest."

"Hmph." Jirina puts her arm down once she's able, tucking the blankets higher to her chest again. No need to wear clothes around someone who can't see, but the room has a bit of a draft at times. "I believe I'm still trying to decide whether or not I should be angry that you're experimenting your magic on me."

"Well," Riada makes an anxious face, "had the circumstances been different -I certainly would have preferred them to be- I would have asked for permission. But Xero was so worried."

"Xero is _always_ worried."

"So I've gathered. Though, if it means anything, I apologize for taking such liberty with your well being."

"Well...considering I'm still here to complain about it, I should be thankful, not critical. But do me a kindness and don't let it become a habit."

"Of course." Riada grabs the tray and stands. "Is there anything else I can do for you, majesty?"

"No," she covers her mouth to yawn, "but thank you."

"Very well. I will let you sleep." and she dips her chin before she leaves the room, eventually leaving the private quarters completely.

"Sleep. _Hmph_." she huffs defiantly, certain she will do no such thing. Not today, not when she feels the best she has in days. But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

The following week plods along in similar fashion. Xero coming and going with news and reports of goings on in the palace, Riada making habitual visits to keep track of Jirina's gradually improving health. She begins to need less sleep, starts walking without fear of her leg giving out, and bothers to start wearing clothes again once the fever finally breaks. It takes nearly a month, but the empress makes a full recovery.

At her Premier's advice, Jirina makes a conscious effort to make a few public appearances, be seen about the city to assure everyone that she was all right. It is rather strange to have so many people happy and relieved to see you alive. She resumes her meeting with the Devorians to further smooth out the details of their particular situation. Over the course of three days they are given full trading rights within Cyl Og Sul, and are conditionally gifted a significant parcel of land near the roots of Big Mesa. The hope is for them to eventually build a town and population large enough to serve as a sort of buffer between whatever comes through the passage at the top of the mesa and the rest of Wyldern. Ura and her people don't deliberate long and gladly accept the terms.

The third anniversary of Hokum's death is greeted with a festival. People come from all over to enjoy the celebration in the capital city with singing and dancing and drinking. Seeing the people come together fills Jirina with a quiet yet insurmountable pride. It bolsters her faith in Wyldern's survival and future prosperity. She even joins the revelry, feeling truly _free_ for the first time in years.

A new group of mages comes from the academy along with a letter from Archmage Igraine showing appreciation for Jirina's hospitality. Riada stays to continue her research and work in the palace. Research that hits a snag when she realizes how tough Wyldernians are. Literally. Their skin, regardless of color, is as durable as leather. She tries instead to make due with common illnesses to further her study.

Jirina receives a letter from Dashau some weeks after the festival, surprised to learn of his having fallen ill. The message is short, relatively to the point, and somewhat casually requests she visit him soon. The Banori king is old, has been since Jirina had first met him, perhaps he feels his time is short now that he is unwell. Of course she will go, Dashau is a good friend. She will leave Xero and Mezzick in charge while she and Riada are escorted by a small company of Banori back to their cavern home. She chooses to take the young mage because she believes she will appreciate the new experience.

The empress isn't far off the mark, Dashau isn't so much sick as he is tired with age. He is easily over a hundred years old, and it is finally beginning to show as almost all of his once steel gray fur has gone white. And while Banori are already a wrinkly skinned bunch, Dashau is showing an exceptional amount of creases around his eyes and mouth. His long bony fingers look thinner than usual, his entire frame does. He lounges in his chair in his cave, shaking under a blanket, and still finds the strength to greet his visitors. Jirina only hugs him briefly before helping his back into his seat.

"You honor me with your visit, empress."

"Please, Dashau, use my name." she and Riada sit on the floor in front of him. "No titles here."

He smiles, a thin line pulling wide enough to show small, dull fangs. "Very well. Then thank you, Jirina, for humoring this old bat. I was hoping that we could palaver one last time."

"Come now, you're not going anywhere. You just need some wine and a long nap."

He laughs. "I had wine shortly after I woke, and I believe the long nap is on its way."

"So what is it you wanted talk about, my friend?"

"Mostly," he takes a shaking breath, "things I believe you should hear. Things that have been on my heart for some time. Things for war siblings as ourselves."

"Would you have us be alone to speak, Dashau?"

"No, it is not needed. Perhaps the girl can learn something, as it seems the time of war is gone."

"Very well. Please, by your leave."

He pulls the blanket a little closer and shifts, settling. "We have seen so many changes in our world. So many. Quite amazing that we have lived to see them, isn't it? All the misery and violence...so much destruction. But,"

Jirina cocks her head.

"I am grateful. Because of all that...I have found such _joy_ in seeing the great healing that has swept over our homeland." his dim eyes settle on her. "And much of that is because of you and your friends. _Mostly_ you, in my personal opinion."

"You humble me."

"Don't be. You've earned every ounce of praise you ever receive for what you have accomplished in such a short time. Three years, my dear. Three years against _twenty_ , and you have done all of these things. Orgran himself didn't manage half of what you have in twice the time. _Please_ be proud, as this was no small task."

She bows her head, accepting. "As you say."

"I have lived a _long_ time." he exhales slowly. "And as one war ended and another began, age after age, my desires would...change. At first I only wanted to survive, as a child often does. Then I wished for victory over my enemies. After that, it was simply for the conflict to end. Now...I finally have my greatest wish. To see peace...freedom, and our people unified again." his eyes are on her again, working through her, studying. "What of your wishes, Jirina? Have you found them?"

Hesitation, then "No...Hokum saw to that."

His expression draws tight, shrinking into something touched and sympathetic. "That...is a great shame. You poor girl."

"Please, there's no need for that."

"My apologies." he nods slowly, a little jerk. "How goes the search for a new council?"

"Slowly. But there _is_ progress. Perhaps in another year we will better know where the situation stands. I know... I must approach the matter with the utmost care."

"Oh yes." he agrees. "While that is very true, you need not do so on your own. Just as the people chose you, perhaps you consider giving them the chance to choose their council."

For a moment she's quiet, perhaps weighing a consideration she hadn't before. "How?"

"Well, you've shown yourself as the creative sort, I'm sure you can come up with something. Democracy has never been our strong suit, but...it's never too late to change, is it?"

"Perhaps not." Jirina shrugs a little, then she looks up at him again. "Is there anything I can do for you, Dashau?"

"You've done far too much already." laughter comes out of his trembling body in puffs. "You are here, that pleases me just fine. I am at peace knowing that Wyldern is in good hands. I would like to give you something."

"Please, Dashau, that isn't,"

"I _want_ to. Mind you, it doesn't quite meet up to all you've given me, but I'm sure you will appreciate it."

He produces a stone statue from within the folds of the blanket, his long arms more than able to reach her without him having to move much. The fetish is commonly known as a Banori Death Doll, one of a kind effigies of honored dead. No more than a foot tall, the detail is so fine that Jirina immediately sees the likeness.

"I...I can't accept this. This should go to your family."

"You are family to me. War has connected us, a bond even birth cannot stand to. Please, accept it with my blessing. I have also commissioned one for you to sit in the Hall of Kings when you pass."

"You honor me, Dashau." the last time she had even come so close to crying, so touched, was when she returned to Pay's Hom after Hokum was killed. The look on her people's faces to learn they were free. "You have always been a good friend, since we met. You remember?"

He leans back in his chair, shutting his eyes with a contented chitter, amused. "Yes. You and your...exotic friends. I hope you realize how fortunate you are to have such fine companions. No amount of power or influence will ever match what they can give you."

"Yes...I understand." though she knows she could probably stand to treat them better. Yell at them less...threaten them _a lot_ less. Particularly Xero. He puts up with the worst of it, and after all he has done for her. Jirina's mouth opens to continue the conversation, but she pauses. She swallows whatever words might have come. Dashau is dead.

"I'm sorry, your majesty." Riada's voice squeaks lightly. Her throat is tight.

"There's no need. Returning to Our Mother is cause for joy, not sorrow. Now come, we will pass on the news and then return to the palace."

The mage nods and they both stand and leave the chamber.

"I would love to hear how you and the king came to know each other."

"Perhaps. But not today." That stood to be a long, and at times ugly story. Not something for young humans.

 _(II)_

Windleaf expects to see Stinger when Sir George shows her into the room where she always receives visitors. But her disappointment is nowhere to be seen when Clemett greets her in his stead. It's been far too long since she had seen the Gadgeteer, and she can't resist the need to embrace him.

"Good to see you too, darlin'." he pats her back with one large hand before taking a step back and sitting down. "I'm sure you were expectin' skinny, but I'm afraid he's still pretty sick."

"Oh? It's been a month,"

"I know, but he just can't shake it. It gets pretty bitter cold up in Hightowne. Never mind how he works himself half to death. He starts feelin' even a little better and he's out on the work site again. Then he relapses, but you can't talk to him, he does what he wants."

"Too true." she shakes her head. "Too true. But I'm really glad you came, Clemett."

"Sure thing. Besides, it was kind of nice to get out of the city for a spell."

"How are things in Karillon these days?"

"Gettin' better, actually. The council is working to send out relief parties for the outlying villages, you know, what few that are left. Since the Darg went under those craters got quiet, so there's a chance we can rebuild Lochane and Barleygrove."

Windleaf shifts in her seat. "What about Enclann?"

He shakes his head. "Haven't heard a thing about it yet. I take it that's your home town?"

"Yeah. Gods only know what's become of it now."

Clemett watches her features stretch, worried and saddened. "Hey, if it helps, I could look into it myself. I don't mind."

"You don't have to, but I would be grateful. If nothing else just to know...but don't go by yourself."

"We'll see. Can't blame a man if he happens to forget to ask for help, can you?"

"You rascal." she laughs a little. "Have you heard from Harv recently?"

"Yeah. The harbor on Dantyr is almost finished. They're making it a sort of hybrid, giving Eyre another docking spot closer to the palace as well as a sea port."

"Sounds exciting."

"Oh sure. Feels like the world's gettin' smaller, doesn't it?"

"That's what Stinger said."

"Anyway, the harvester is fine from what I hear. He's become sole escort for Griffon and his new lady friend as of late."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Seems like old habits die hard for those Metabolinians. If you ask me they're being paranoid, expectin' an assassin and all. But, then again, they're from a different time, you know?"

She nods. Over four hundred years is different indeed. "I wonder if he still misses the farm. I remember him mentioning before...some years ago."

"He's gonna miss it more once Griffon gets married and his heirs start runnin' amok. I'd put money on it."

Windleaf laughs, recalling how Harv never was one to like children. Now that she thinks of it, she wouldn't be surprised in the least if the robot requests retirement.

"Any word from Wyldern?"

"Oh yeah, crazy stuff going on down there these days. They made Jirina Empress, did you hear?"

"I think Stinger told me...after you told him, actually." she nods. "Somehow I'm not really surprised."

"Me neither, though what _did_ surprised me was some punk trying to incite civil war against her."

" _What_? Please tell me she took care of that."

"Oh sure, in the only way she knows how. But according to the head, otherwise, the place is coming back real strong."

"That's wonderful." and she tries to sound as sincere as possible, because she means it. Right down to her bones. "It's a shame I'll probably never see it again. Wyldern is a strangely...beautiful place."

He nods. "I have to agree with you."

It's quiet for a moment, both of them thinking.

"So how are _you_? It's been so long, we're almost strangers. Any plans after the harbors are done?"

"Well," it sounds like he didn't expect the question, "I mean...Eyre's been kind enough to put me up these last few years, but you know...just don't feel like I belong. New Gubrath ain't much my place anymore, either. I guess... for now it's all up in the air." he smooths the top of his head with his hand. "That's somethin' to think about, innit'?"

Windleaf can't help but chuckle a little at the idea that she stumped him. "I'm sure you'll come up with something. You're clever like that."

"Well, here's to hopin', eh?" his reciprocating laugh sounds nervous, unsure. "What do you think I should do? Just out of curiosity."

Her features stretch, surprised at the question. "Well...I know you like your spirits...maybe you should go into brewing. You could build a bar at the new harbor."

Behind his goggles she's certain his eyes are bulging, the way the lenses seem to fix on her giving off that impression. "You know...you might have something there. I could build my own distillery...get my booze from Duffy until I can start pumpin' out my own brand...by the Makers' knobs. I bet I could even start shipping it abroad after a fashion! Can you imagine? Gadgeteer _beer_! Hah!"

"Glad I could help."

"Oh you bet, darlin'! And you and slim get your drinks on me," he nods, excited, "you know, 'cause I'm a nice guy."

"Of course. That is, if I'm even allowed on the dock. Will it be part of the city?"

"I...ooh, I don't know, but I can find out. It'd be a damn shame if you couldn't, you know? 'Cause I'd love to have _all of us_ together some time."

She just nods. It is what it is.

"So, uh...the old fellow over there is eyeballin' me. Do I gotta make tracks or somethin'?"

"Afraid so. Be sure to tell everyone I said hello."

"Oh you bet." He pushes to his feet, meeting her in the middle with a quick hug. "Take care of yourself, yeah?"

"You too."

 _(III)_

It is so strange to watch Riada work. Her eyes are always forward though her hands move over the parchments laid across the table in front of her. She spends most of her time drawing countless copies of various glyphs -from memory- with a calligraphy brush and black ink, dozens of times if necessary until they are all _just so_. She's able to do this with aid of a custom made wooden frame, much like what you would use to hang a painting, that helps her keep track of where the borders of the parchment are. And with a thread crossing underneath the page, she can mentally manage the image in quadrants to keep it as even as possible through her well attuned touch. However a pair of the other students from the academy are usually present to help, mostly keeping things organized and properly cataloged. Occasionally they need to adjust the parchment or refill the ink well, otherwise their main responsibility is to show in the sick and injured for her to work on.

Back at the academy she didn't have this consistent flow of test subjects. Students only hurt themselves so often, doubly so for injuries that required long term recovery, which is what she is most interested in studying. It's what the enchantment was meant for after all. And the diverse variety of patients served its own educational purposes. She couldn't ask for more.

Presently she's working alone, marking her pages so she can decipher their order without assistance. With a penknife she cuts small wedges out of the edge of the pages, starting from the top left corner. All she has to do is count the spaces to know where the paper goes in the growing stack beside her. Eventually the catalog will be finished and she can send it back to the Archmage for review. With any luck it will put her on the fast track for graduation.

She shows only minimal surprise when someone knocks on the far side of the study door, not enough to unsteady her working hand. Riada puts the brush back in the well once she finds it with her other hand and then stands up. She starts pushing down any creases in her clothing as she hears footsteps, recognizing them almost immediately.

"Miss Ria, are we interrupting?"

"Of course not, Xero. It's always a pleasure to receive you. I was considering a short break anyhow." she's trying and succeeding to hide her nervousness, not just because its the Premier. She admires the Mage Warrior, humbled by his very presence as his magical power works like static against her sensitive skin. The Siltherian legends of his kind were often center stage in the stories of her childhood. But the empress is here as well, and that is always cause for butterflies in her stomach. "May I do anything for you?"

"How is your research coming?" Jirina asks, strangely casual.

"Oh, j-just fine, your majesty, just fine." she wrings her hands a little.

"Are these accommodations satisfactory?"

"I-um...yes? I mean, you've been very generous." Was that a trick question? Did she just give the wrong answer?! "M-may I ask what this is about?"

"Actually, I'd like to make you an offer, if you are interested."

"For...?"

"From what the old man tells me, a royal court simply isn't complete without a Court Mage. I was wondering if you would be of the mind to take up the position."

Riada's features stretch, unable to speak for the first moment. She wrings her hands a little tighter, searching for the right words. If she could only _see_ them, make note of the looks on their faces, maybe that would convince her that the empress is sincere.

Finally "W-well, your majesty, with all due respect...I'm still a student."

"And? I don't need the academy to tell me what I already know. You're very talented and more than able."

"So you're serious?"

"Quite." Jirina nods, an amused smirk twisting her mouth. "I have a reputation for many things, joking is not one of them. Will you accept?"

Her mouth begins to fumble again, hands working together, anxious. "What of my responsibilities should I agree?"

"To be frank, there would be little change in what you're doing now. You would have a private study, your own quarters, greater access to the archives along with some other privileges. You will have whatever resources you need and be reasonably compensated. In all honesty, it is my hope that you would eventually share your findings with us, teach our upcoming mages how to use it."

Riada feels heat rush into her face, her heart fluttering. She swallows. "You actually think my work is worth all that?"

"It's priceless, to be fair, but this is the best way I thought to show my appreciation. And don't forget you saved my life, so I believe it's the very least I could do."

The young human covers her mouth against a titillated gasp, trying so hard to keep her composure in front of them. But it is _so_ difficult. She laughs, almost cries, before taking a deep calming breath. "I would be honored, your majesty."

"Wonderful." another curt nod and smile of approval.

"Then this is for you, my dear." Xero is carrying a staff made of unprocessed hexite and tanglewood, the two materials twined together and marked with old Orgish runes. "It was recovered from the vaults, some say it hasn't been seen since Orgran reigned. Consider it your badge of office."

Tentatively Riada reaches out and touches it, hands moving up and down the length and circling the knots at the top. She still resists her excitement, now seeming to be fighting back tears of joy. But before she even thinks of taking the staff in both hands to hold, she snaps to face the empress -somehow knowing exactly where the she-Org stands- and jumps straight up to put her arms around her neck.

" _Thank you_!"

Xero and Jirina are making the same face, rest assured. Their features are stretched, eyes bulging, Xero's mouth silently works the sentence "is she allowed to do that?" Jirina has her hands open and out to the side, seemingly unsure of what to do exactly, as if any sudden movement may break the small human. And goodness, is she small. She dangles almost two feet from the ground and her weight is hardly enough to make Jirina hunch.

"Y-you're quite welcome." carefully Jirina takes Riada by the waist and pries her loose, setting her down. "Now, I'm sure you would like to get back to your work-,"

"Oh no, please stay! I would _love_ to show you my most recent breakthrough."

Now Jirina looks down as the girl takes one of her large hands in both of her own, holding on and anxiously waiting. She looks at Xero, silent, hoping he can sense her feeling of uncertainty. He just raises his brows, looking amused as his mustache turns upwards slightly. Then he inches his shoulders in her direction.

She sighs a little. "Very well. By your leave."

 _(IV)_

 _Stinger,_

 _I didn't know when you were going to be well enough to see me again, but I wanted to tell you as soon as possible. I received a letter from the council. I'm only going to serve eighteen more months. I almost don't believe it. Do you think you could try to be there when I get out? I'm not going to make you promise something you might not be able to keep, but...you know. We can talk about it some more when you come see me again, okay?_

 _Get well soon,_

 _Windleaf_

Author's Note: I think this is about finished, now that I think about it. Maybe I'm just saying that because I'm loosing steam. I dunno. In any case, the last few chapters (if even that) are going to tie up these relationships. Still got a considerable amount of wind behind Jirina, so bear with me a little longer, yeah? Any questions, you know where to send 'em.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Ten**

She finds peace up here on the walls, looking down one way into the valley, and then into Cyl Og Sul when she turns her head. The guards that patrol the battlements pay her no more mind than an acknowledging nod of respect as they pass by. A small part of her is convinced no one else knows she comes here, but laughs at the prospect. Someone _always_ knows where the empress is.

Jirina often pauses where the wall ends and the path leads into the gatehouse. She lingers for the better part of a half hour, mostly watching the town below. The fifth anniversary of Hokum's death is a few weeks away and the people are already preparing for the festival. She can see them in flocks moving through the streets with incredible cart loads of wine and food. The merchant's quarter buzzes with the noise, the bellowing of Devorians the most distinct sound. It has become somewhat of a local tradition for couples to marry on the eve of the festival, and Jirina smiles at the noticeable crowd outside of the sanctuary. A crowd that is likely to grow as visitors from the other towns and villages come to the castle to celebrate. It will be a sight to see.

But Jirina hopes, _prays_ , it will be the last festival she sees as empress.

She has been working so diligently to build a new council, doing her best to make certain that there will never be room for another being such as Hokum in Wyldern ever again. For all intents and purposes, the council is sitting now but only in such capacity as Jirina allows. All laws and edicts they draft pass through her hands before they even have the chance to deliberate it. And after said motions are either upheld or denied, she reviews the reasoning behind the decisions to her satisfaction. Xero occasionally voiced the thought that she might be too suspicious. "Waiting for the other boot to drop" as he said. Though she isn't about to admit just how right he is to his face, it doesn't nullify the fact. She knows herself well enough. It's difficult to trust others to maintain what she and the others had fought so hard to rescue and restore. How does one just...let go?

Jirina shrugs and starts to walk the wall again, now back the way she came, back into the palace. She almost makes it back to her personal quarters before being stopped.

"Majesty,"

Her jaw tenses briefly as she half turns, stone heel grinding. "Court Mage? What is it you need?"

"Ah, nothing," Ria appears to blush. She does it a lot actually, particularly when addressed by her title. "Well, not me, Majesty. Mr. Clemett is here to see you and he's waiting in the throne room, if it pleases you to receive him there."

"Aye." she nods after a moment. "Is it urgent news?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Very well. Come along then."

Ria seems always so eager to follow. Strange. Like Ghoulbird chicks when the mother first teaches them to fly. Their footsteps are mirrored though she lingers but half an arm's length behind. Jirina focuses on the echoing knock of her staff as it taps and skates over the floor. A sound she isn't too fond of.

"Do you really need that?" she asks.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry." Ria tucks the staff into the crook of her arm. "Yes and no. Does it bother you?"

"A little."

"Apologies." and no sooner than her head dips, somewhat embarrassed, does her free hand latch onto Jirina's thick, hewn wrist. "I-I have most of these corridors in memory...but it helps to know I'm not alone."

"I see. Though...all you had to do was say so."

Ria laughs a little. "Forgive me if I think you are a little...intimidating. It isn't easy to just come out and talk to you."

"I get that a lot."

"I don't doubt that."

Jirina's eyes slide to her for a moment, her chin tipping up a little. "So I'm difficult to talk to...yet you're perfectly at ease with taking my hand."

"As large as it is." The entire stretch of Ria's hand barely comes half way around the she-Org's wrist. "You are far more gentle than you give yourself credit for."

Jirina almost stops, taken by surprise. But her strides maintain and she keeps walking, not wanting to trip up Ria. Many words indeed have been used to describe Jirina, gentle has never been one of them.

The empress wonders in passing if the Gadgeteer saw her pull free of the human woman's grip as she enters the throne room. It doesn't seem to affect the way he greets her with the usual handshake and brief embrace.

"Have you any needs, mechanic?"

"After a spell I think I'd like to tie one on, sure." he nods. "But I've got a letter from topside. Royal invitation."

"Is that so?" She watches him dig the gold embossed envelope from one of his many pouches, taking it gingerly between two stone fingers when he passes it forward. "What's the occasion?"

"Griffon is gettin' married. He and the Navigator must have really hit it off."

"Interesting. For the convenience?"

"I don't think so, but I'm sure it helps to pad that racial relationship all the same. I've got more to deliver, actually, if you wouldn't mind helping me. It would be easier for me to get an audience with Jakir if you were with me, plus you know the new Banori king better than me. Even the Devorians got one."

"I'd be happy to help, we can start tomorrow." she opens the letter, giving it a quick glance. "A month..."

"Is that long enough for you, big gal?"

"Should be, yes." she nods. "Anything else?"

"Oh well," he smooths one hand over his head, "the harbors are finished, Karillon and Metaboline are gettin' real chummy these days. Which is great and..."

Beneath the metal visor one brow lifts. "And what?"

For a moment he says nothing, he can't even meet her gaze. "Ah...must've forgot. Sorry about that...hey, where's the old man?"

Not that she buys that for a second. "I'm sure he's around, he usually is. Likely looking for me, actually. Hardly a soul in this kingdom who isn't. Why not make yourself comfortable, mechanic, I'll have someone fetch him."

The three of them retire to an adjoining, smaller room where a small spread of food and drink is brought. For a while they chat and catch up, all the while Clemett tiptoes around something. At least Jirina is certain he is and encourages him to have more than a little wine to possibly loosen his tongue. If Gadgeteers even possess such a thing. Her curiosity is bordering on lethal when the Premier finally joins them, though this doesn't serve to ease the notion as Clemett asks to speak with Xero in private. "Guy stuff" he explains. Not that she believes that either, but thankfully she has afternoon court to distract herself with.

But one could put money on it that she would be right back at the subject once court concludes. And while it appears that Clemett drank far too much and has retired for the time being, Xero has the unmistakeable air of sobriety and a certain discomfort. Still he is open when she inquires as to what he knows, which mildly surprises her.

"It isn't that we didn't want you to know, Jirina, just an uncertainty as to when we should tell you." his hands are wringing behind his back, his violet eyes unable to focus on one thing for very long.

"Tell me now, then."

The Mage Warrior looks around the throne room, wanting to be sure no stray ears were about. And he was confident he could trust Miss Taj'hal to be discreet about anything that would be said. There is obvious hesitance in his manner as he divulges what he and Clemett discussed: Windleaf would be released within the month and is likely to attend Griffon's wedding. He can almost feel the sudden shift in the empress' energy, a light but distinct prickling to his skin that raises gooseflesh all over him. He watches her closely, waiting for whatever was going through her mind to translate through her body in some way. Initially she says nothing, though there is an obvious tension in her shoulders at the news.

Then "How many years has it been, Xero?"

"Five."

"Five? Hm." she nods, her posture belying an unspoken desire to turn away from him. "That's all?"

His brows knit, suspicion in his eyes. "You're...not angry?"

"I'm furious." It isn't obvious in her level monotone, but is visible in how her hands clench into tight fists and the muscles in her jaw bunch. "To think treason...comes so cheap. Even genocide."

"Jirina," he counters carefully, "the decimation of life was Hokum's doing, not hers."

"Wasn't it?" she takes a half step towards him. "Have you ever thought of the lives that would have been spared were it not for her turning on us? Ten years worth? For Apunn-sii alone, even."

"I have, just as you. But Arkose has passed its judgment."

"And I honor it, I simply disagree. It hardly fits the crime."

"That's not for us to decided."

"Perhaps it should have been." she sneers. "Rest assured Wyldernian justice would have been far more lasting."

He frowns for a moment, scowling even, then the expression softens. "The war is over...it's time to make peace, don't you think?"

"Peace? Surely you jest." she almost laughs, though her mouth fails to upturn at the corners. Instead it tightens into a half snarl. "My people have peace, they are prospering so ask _them_ if it pleases you, but don't you _dare_ make such a grand request of _me_." and her tone steadily sharpens. "Do you even comprehend what you're really asking?"

He takes a breath, bracing against the surge of energy coming from her that washes over him like hot ashes on the wind. "Mayhaps if you explained-,"

"You _saw it_ ," she hisses, teeth together, "you know what happened to me. What more validation are you going to demand?"

"I have never pressured you before, not once...I've always been aware how sensitive the matter is. I simply wish to understand, Jirina, that's all." his heart rate has quickened but he does his best to stay on the level. If she is to lose her temper...

She's quiet for just a moment, one deep breath passing through her flared nostrils. "You had a vendetta once, old man, a just one at that. The one who broke the trust of your brotherhood and stole your body was put to the sword - _your sword_...and as much as it had to have pained you to destroy Mannheim I _know_ you found pleasure in it. I saw both in equal measure in your eyes that day and I'll never forget it. Am I wrong?"

"No." he sighs, face unreadable and firm.

"Yet here you are trying to peddle to me the idea of _forgiveness_ when you would have stomached no such thing! You have the nerve to try and tell me not to desire what is rightfully mine!"

She isn't shouting yet but he knows it's coming. He swallows, the sharp point of his Adam's apple bobbing once.

"What is so wrong with wanting closure? Tell me."

"Is closure really what you want? It has always sounded like revenge to me."

"One begets the other in my eyes." she growls.

"But-,"

" _SHE took my hands_ ," both hands swing upward and whip in his direction as her mouth twists into a hard grimace with flickers of teeth, "after I spat in that dogson's face! And when she didn't have the _guts_ to finish the job, some no name Dargling did it for her!"

Xero's mouth opens, jaw hanging, and he says nothing. His violet eyes widen and all he can do is breathe. His knees threaten to buckle when she takes a step towards him.

Jirina's body pulses with anger, memories flashing over the back of her mind as she puts a searing gaze to the Mage Warrior. Her appendages had been separated from her body by the edge of a white hot blade, Hokum not wishing for her to bleed out and die before he was willing to allow it. It had taken over a dozen Darglings to keep her on her knees even after days of being beaten, interrogated for information she simply didn't have. She still remembers the biting sting of her scalp as they held her by her hair, the clench of a firm and clawed hand at her throat and jaw to keep her head still. To keep her from looking away as glowing steel fell to her flesh. One then the other, enough pause between to make sure the pain from the first injury wouldn't conceal the others.

"You want to understand, old man?" she is still moving forward, stature predatory, and he backs away, looking to not be meaning to. In one fluid motion she reaches up and tears the visor from her face, throwing it to the floor with an echoing metallic _clung_ before lunging forward to snatch the front of Xero's coat in both hands. With one hard jerk they stand almost nose to nose, only the curled toes of his boots are still on the floor. This is the first time Xero has ever felt fear in her presence. This is the first time she has ever laid hands on him in such a way, and the hard lines of fury he can now see pulling her features only amplifies this terrible new feeling. "Then take a good look...tell me what you see."

He can't find the words to respond to her demand, his mind is blank with a unique panic. But he sees well: the scars across her face. One uneven mark in particular that goes from her pitch black hairline, diagonal across her forehead and down into the small space between the thick bridge of her nose and her eye. It ends just an inch or so above her jaw line, standing out as the largest among several smaller ones. And this was just her face; her entire body is covered in various blemishes like these.

Her tone is now just above a whisper and _hard_. "Hokum spent... _hours_ teaching that back-biting plague-sore how to hurt someone, and she is far from a quick study in the matter. The one you're surely staring at was the first...Hokum held her hand as she did it, made sure she cut _deep_."

 _"The face is a great place to start, my dear girl. Highly sensitive flesh with little risk of nicking an artery..."_

And it had been nearly two years of this miserable cycle: starvation, beatings, torture, over and over until Hokum had been convinced she couldn't tell him anything he didn't already know. However, even after all that he found her useful still. Jirina goes on to tell him how Hokum's men stripped her of everything but her Org-Ta runes and chained her to a post in the middle of Cyl Og Sul like an untrustworthy hound. The bastard wanted to be sure everyone who still lived in the crumbling town would see what became of _anyone_ who dared to resist him.

Xero knows its true, as much as the idea that Windleaf would ever do such things disgusts him. He cannot ignore the still jarring recollection of the state Jirina was in when Mezzick had lead him to where she was hidden in the Banori caves, under Dashau's protection.

"And _every day_ that I walk these corridors and those streets I am reminded of it all." her lips tremble though it's obvious she's trying to fight it. There's a tightness in her throat that she tries desperately to swallow so she can speak. Her body shakes. "Forgiveness won't give me any peace because there _is no such thing_! Not when every waking moment is a _nightmare_!" one tear slips from the corner of her eye, just barely catching torchlight to flash for an instant. "So are you satisfied now? _Do you finally understand_?"

He still cannot speak though his mouth tries to form words. He trembles in her grasp and can only stare back at the staggering grimace on her face and telling blueness around the edges of her eyes. More tears are coming though she fights them, but there are just too many to hold back.

When his silence no longer suits her she lets go, simply refusing to care that he stumbles onto his backside. With a snap of motion Jirina puts her back to him and forges for the exit of the throne room. If ever she needed to be alone...

"J-Jirina," he finally stutters, "please,"

" _Not another word lest I break the only promise I ever made you_!"

His jaw snaps shut, one hand instinctively going to the seam at his throat as he watches her leave the chamber.

 _(II)_

She remembers the first day feeling the longest, partly because she couldn't find it in her to sleep. Instead she just stared at the shadows the bars in the window made within the moonlight on the walls. Now, five years later as she does the same thing, Windleaf rethinks the prospect. This, her last night, is lasting forever. Again she cannot sleep and there isn't enough light to read by as the moon is in its waning stages. Not that there is a book she hasn't read in the small stack by the bed. So now, as then, she lays in here, hands folded over her stomach with thumbs twiddling. When that no longer pacifies her mind she starts to hum to herself, old songs from home that hold a bitter sweetness as she'll likely never hear them again otherwise. This serves to lull her mind closer to sleep, eventually pushing her over to it though it's an uneasy slumber. She wakes several times throughout the night.

Windleaf rouses herself one last time at the behest of the morning watchman, taking a moment to make herself presentable before presenting her hands through the bars. It is time to make breakfast for the knights and, by the same token, herself. It keeps her busy enough to forget the ticking seconds, though she struggles to keep her eyes off the old wooden cuckoo clock in the kitchen. The warden would allow her to leave when the little bird inside the clock sings for midday, no sooner. It's going to be the longest five hours of her life.

When the time finally - _finally_ \- comes she spares only a moment to tuck the few books she has into a cloth bag when Sir George comes to escort her out of the keep. And while he is walking her from her cell to the entrance on the far side -away from Karillon- there is no need for her to wear manacles anymore. Now she stands on the other side of the gate at the rear of the keep, looking out along the winding path that cuts through the Crescent Valley. Free.

"Let's not meet again under these circumstances, aye?" the old knight nods and smiles.

"I'll do my best. Thank you, Sir George." she opens her arms in offering for an embrace, hoping it's allowed now.

He happily concedes. "Take care of yourself, missy."

She nods in response before managing a soft good bye in the same instant as she turns to start down the path. She makes for the Magic Academy, the only place she knows she is welcome.

By the gods did it feel good to have soil under her feet again instead of unforgiving flagstones. There's a soft pulse of energy between the small contact of her skin and the earth, like it once had when she still had her magic. The air is fresh and clean, heated by the sun, and she smooths her fingers through her hair in tandem with a nudging breeze. She reaches the end of the path and can't help but laugh at the gentle scratch of the tall, wild grains and grasses of the valley against her legs. Nearly every step she takes scatters countless insects and small birds from their hiding places, almost conjuring memories of before when the whole valley was crawling with monsters. Strange.

Perhaps a third of the way to her destination she pauses, mostly to take in the area, remind herself exactly where she is. But before she begins again she squints at the southern horizon, spotting something moving. An initially nondescript silhouette steadily becomes something human looking, arms waving. Then she catches the faint echo of a voice calling her name. Windleaf breaks into a full sprint without further encouragement.

Stinger meets with her over a patch of clover, catching her about the waist as she throws open her arms once she's close enough. They forgo the awkward pleasantries and greetings in exchange for a deep, almost searing kiss. He holds her above the ground for but a moment, his knees giving under their combined weight. They laugh at themselves when they hit the ground, Stinger on his back with his arms still tight around her.

"You came after all." she says once she composes herself a little, smiling down at him.

"Of course I did, though I'm sorry I didn't meet you at the door."

"It's fine, you're here now." she kisses him again, this time not so intensely. At least that's how it started, as she couldn't stop with just one. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." he manages. "And as much as I would like to take this further, vultures are starting to circle."

She twists upright and lifts her head. "Oh my."

"That isn't like some bad omen, is it?"

"Not that I know of...not that I'm willing to tempt the chance, either. Come on." She stands, careful not to trip over him before offering her hand to pull Stinger to his feet. They start walking south together, as close as two people physically can be before movement starts being more trouble than it's worth.

"Anari is planning some fancy dinner." he says seemingly in passing.

Windleaf smirks to herself with a gentle roll of her eyes. "I all but begged her not to."

"I know...and _she_ knows you're not one for the attention but...you're important to her. You're her mentor."

"Yeah, but it isn't like I'm coming back from the dead."

"True." he nods once. "Still, you practically raised that girl. You taught her everything she knows and she's had to spend the last few years without you to hold her hand, you know? I bet it's just as much a welcome home party as it is a 'be proud of me, I didn't burn the place down' celebration."

"Ah-hah, good point. Well, be that as it may...the first thing I'm doing -come hell or high water- is taking a _hot_ bath."

"Got drafty up in that old keep, did it?"

She shivers, cringing. "Then I'm going to sulk for a while over how I'm going to come up with two-hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces." Her posture deflates.

Stinger tips his chin up, a smug smirk on his mouth that she can't see. " _Well_..."

Windleaf slides her piercing blue eyes on the diagonal to try and catch his face. "Well _what_? What did you do?"

His hand smooths down her back, fingers eventually curling over her hip to pull her just a little closer. "I may or may not have been putting some of my salary towards your debt."

She shrugs a little. "When are you going to stop trying to bail me out every time I get in trouble?"

He lowers his head, pressing a brief kiss to her hair. "When I stop giving a damn about you."

How do you argue that?

They arrive at the academy in the early evening, just as the sky begins to turn to burning hues of orange and gold. Fessen, the resident ghost, is the first to greet them. Windleaf seems pleased to see him, having been convinced he'd left the place shortly after she had taken over as Archmage. Stinger takes the spirit's presence with the usual abrasion, the two never really having taken to one another.

Igraine comes into the atrium with a beaming smile and open arms, embracing Windleaf and offering a most warm welcome home. Almost immediately she goes into the details of the dinner, how all the senior students are so excited that she'll be there, and how everyone has been working _so_ hard to make the academy presentable for her arrival.

Windleaf makes a conscious effort to show genuine gratitude -not that she has to fake it- as she feels a little overwhelmed at the attention. With a nod of acknowledgment to all of Igrain's efforts she gently asks "How soon?"

"A few hours yet. It'll be after dark."

Another nod. "Is there somewhere I can relax until then?"

"Of course," by the blue Org's tone she must have thought that a silly question, "you're apartment is just as you left it. Please, make yourself at home."

"I will, if you'll excuse me."

"I'll send Fessen for you then?"

"That would be fine."

Igraine raises an eyebrow as Windleaf turns away and begins to walk. "And for the admiral? Should I arrange a room for him?"

"Not necessary, thank you, Igraine."

And Igraine watches, gasping quietly with both hands over her mouth as Stinger puts an arm around Windleaf's shoulders and winks back at her with a knowing smirk. A short walk down the spiraling walkway that runs the depth of the academy brings them to the proper door that the former Archmage opens without delay. A vibration of energy comes out of the opening and sweeps over them, even Stinger feels it and shivers at the goosebumps on his skin.

The room within is bathed with a gently warm and copper light that comes from a hemisphere of stained glass in the ceiling. Several different colored panes on the fixture's extreme edges cast other colors, the glow settling on the flowering plants and mosses that seem to grow right out of the stone walls. The entire space hums with a sort of life, a sentient tranquility not unlike the Etherwell. The admiral glances over the space, one end to the other, finding mostly common items one would expect to: a chest of drawers, a bed, bookshelves of various populations. The only thing he doesn't immediately recognize is the bench and table along the western wall, littered with colored bottles and drying bundles of plants.

"Sit down, stay a while." she says as they step through the door, amused.

"Fancy place." he responds in passing, immediately going for the workbench to have a closer look. "What's all this?"

"Turns out I'm quite the potion maker. It was something I could study without Hokum constantly looking over my shoulder; he never put much stock in the craft. Thought black magic was all he ever needed."

"I'll believe it. And the plants growing in here?"

Windleaf practically flops onto the edge of the bed, happy to sit. "The components could grow all through the academy if Fessen didn't keep house so well, but they seem to really like it in here. One of the reasons I picked it."

He nods, turning away from the bench to face her. "How good are you at love potions then?"

She grins, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I asked, after all."

"Well, pity for you _that_ kind of potion-craft is greatly frowned upon. I don't think there's even a book on it in the archives, and I've never looked."

"Too bad." he feigns a cringe. "You could probably pay off Karillon in a year if you started selling something like that."

"Sure, and while I'm at it, become the mother of industrial date rape. Sounds like a good time."

He stops mid stride, perhaps shocked at hearing the implication he hadn't considered. "Okay...putting it like that...forget I said anything."

"Done and done." one punctuated nod. Then she pats the space next to her with an open hand. "Have a seat. Get comfortable."

Conversation completely forgotten, her lets his heavy leather long coat slip from his shoulders and folds it over one arm. He lays it on the foot of the bed before sitting down, inching as close to her as possible, all the while smiling like a fool. He catches her gaze for a moment before leaning in for a kiss, no warning. She laughs a little and returns the gesture. Again. And Again. Short butterfly kisses morph into something greater, their lips refusing to separate as Stinger pulls her against his chest and lays back on the mattress. Before it gets too serious, however, they unconsciously decide a quick nap is more pressing. Windleaf manages to wake herself and bathe before Fessen arrives, though she has to prod Stinger a few times to get him moving. She convinces him to freshen up a little before the two leave together.

Igraine proves to be a fine hostess, providing various wines and top quality dishes for the gathering of just over a dozen people. Stinger knows hardly a soul in the room, but still finds contentment in trying all the spirits and watching the others interact. The other mages appear genuinely pleased to have Windleaf among them again, most of them likely having been her students at one time or another. And Windleaf was happy to be here, the happiest he had seen her in some time. The academy had been the closest thing she had to a home since Enclaan had been leveled, and now she was back where she belonged. When was the last time she had smiled so much?

Windleaf knows all of the students present, remembers when they were still little more than children. Now they're adults and on the cusp of graduating, and they all have such fine things to say about Igraine's management as Archmage. Not that she had ever doubted her. All Anari ever needed, even as a little girl, was an occasional push. If she ever gained the self-confidence to match her talent, she would be a force to be reckoned with to say the least. Windleaf couldn't be more proud of her apprentice.

It is well after midnight when they all retire to their rooms. Windleaf walks with her arm around Stinger's waist, making sure he's steady enough as she worries over his sobriety. He swears he's fine, several times, but he always swears so she takes it with a grain of salt. Though he convinces her to at least let him walk into her apartment on his own, you know, to prove he can. Once inside his first thought is to kick off his boots, his feet feeling too swollen and sore for him to stand wearing them any longer. He fumbles with the laces at his collar, haphazardly pulling them apart as he stands on one side of the bed. He then hooks his fingers into the hem of his shirt, meaning to give it one hard pull over his head.

He pauses, feeling thin fingers quickly line up with his own from behind him. Warmth washes over him and he thinks twice before looking over his shoulder. He says nothing, only catches and holds her bright blue gaze like he would a precious gem as his fingers loose to lace between hers.

"Make love to me." her tone is just above a whisper, her eyes straying for all of a second. "Do you want to?"

His heart skips a beat, his grip tightening a little. "I...we don't have to do it tonight."

"I didn't say anything about _having_ to." she corrects with a kiss to the back of his neck, a smirk forming when he shivers under her touch. "I asked if you wanted to. Do you?"

" _Yes_." comes his heated exhale. He wants her more than his next breath, has wanted her for years. Stinger lets her turn him around, lifting up his arms as she starts pulling on his shirt. He shudders as her hands fan across his chest, move over his collar bones, and then find purchase in his ponytail to force his head down. Their lips come together with the cautionary pressure of teeth, desire arcing between them like hot static. Her nails bite into his scalp as he bends his knees, lowering himself to gather her up in his arms without breaking contact.

She can't stop the fit of giggles that bubble out of her when he lets her drop to the mattress, her smile only growing at the sight of his own amused grin.

"Just like this," he whispers as he moves over her, knees pushing between her legs, "I want you just like this." Open, willing, accepting. His dark eyes focus on the quickened rise and fall of her bare stomach. He licks his lips. "Is that okay?"

Windleaf nods. "Although I'm sure it'll be better with my clothes _off_."

"Of course." he smirks, kissing her once.

Awkward at first. Too slow. Too fast. They laugh at each other. Not so rough. Just like that. Right there. Right _there_. _Harder_. _Yes_.

They lay together afterward, tangled in the sheets and each other, wide awake but mostly quiet. She threads his hair through her fingers, his head resting on her chest. He kisses her throat in passing, she reciprocates the gesture to his forehead. They are content.

"You know," he mumbles, "I still want you to live with me in Treeside."

"I had a feeling." she tries to ignore the hitching of her heart beat. "I haven't given it proper thought yet."

He nestles a little closer, his arm bending across her stomach. "Would you rather stay here? I can't help but feel like Anari was trying to convince you to."

"She was. She wants me as a teacher, that and she's considering getting the Magi back together. Though I can't see how me being a part of it would help matters. I mean," Windleaf pauses a moment, winding blond strands around two fingers, tugging a little. "These kids...they've got the potential to be ten times the mage I was."

"Yeah...but just imagine what they could do with your help?"

"I know. That's what I've had going through my head half the night." eventually she shakes her head, settling a little further under the blanket. "I have a lot to think over."

"Yeah...can I give you one more thing to think about?"

She agrees, just to humor him.

"You don't have to say anything now, just...just sleep on it, you know?" he swallows, shifting to prop himself on one elbow. He wants to look at her. "I want to marry you."

Windleaf's eyes widen, focusing on the ceiling. "Is this because I'm your first?"

"It's because I love you like I've never loved anyone. Because you're the wind in my sails and the bough-tide beneath my ship. And I don't care how ridiculous you think that sounds."

She smiles, a little laugh as her eyes close for a moment. "I don't think it's ridiculous at all. I'm just surprised. Never took you as the poetic type."

He's blushing, raking the back of his head with hooked fingers. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. But it's all true."

Not that she has any doubt about that. Still, like everything else, it was something to think about. Something else to worry over come the morning.

Author's Note: I'm hitting the burn out line pretty fast now, I think. Likely one chapter left in this, maybe two. After that there'll be a little follow up. Not multi-chapter, but likely long winded. In reality I just needed to get all this out of my head. I'm sure a lot of writers get like that. Anyway, any questions? Feel free to ask. Thanks for reading, that is, if you made it this far.


	11. Chapter 11

**A Comedy of Errors**

 **Part Eleven**

Harv-5 has never been thought of as a typical machine -if there is such a thing- by anyone, considered a rarity since he came off the assembly line and now the last of his kind to be in one piece. Even with circumstances of his production aside, he is far from typical. The Gadgeteers made him with a power source that was only meant to sustain him for a couple decades. Fifty years at most. At least, that is how long it was meant to last. As such happened with all the other harvesters the battery died out after little more than ten years, after which Harv spent the next few years gathering dust in a barn. He didn't move again until a Gadgeteer -who even now goes unnamed- made a few minor repairs and replaced the power source with...something else.

This something was an unusual, flesh toned and glowing crystal that is housed in the region of his chest similar to a human's heart. It doesn't throb like a human's heart, isn't vital to pushing oil and lubricant through his body, though if it should ever _stop_ , so would he. No one really knows for certain where the strange sort of jewel came from, but there was a somewhat definite rumor as to what it is: the remains of Metaboline's last Mage King. And every once in a while, Harv's personality -or lack thereof- would drastically change, reflecting someone else entirely.

Perhaps that would explain how he feels -in the capacity that an automaton can feel- now as he keeps the door of Griffon's room. He examines the entirety of his tenure as the captain of Metaboline's royal guard, watching the soon-to-be-wed Mage King being fussed over by numerous attendants and tailors. He had watched the boy grow into a man, protected him with all his nuts and bolts, and while his robot self is unfazed the heavy seeming crystal in his chest hums with something he doesn't really know. He has a name for it, knows it by proxy from his time among humans, but it is unfamiliar to himself. Pride perhaps. A form of relief even, a burden given up. He has to wonder if human parents ever feel something similar. According to Estrella they do.

The entirety of Metaboline is in a tizzy, anticipating the wedding come the morrow. Although it could be, more presently, over the impending arrival of the numerous foreign delegates that are said to arrive in the next few hours. Griffon has every intention of taking advantage of his wedding to show good faith and fellowship to his neighbors, any ensuing alliances would be crucial to his kingdom's survival. But that isn't the only reason; all of Arkose and Wyldern had come together to make it through the worst, so why not do so again to appreciate the fruits of their labors? And who doesn't enjoy weddings?

Harv could say as much, if he were of the mind either way. Neutral is his preferred natural state, though he thinks there might be a mild buzz of anxiety in himself somewhere. The harvester had been known to get excited from time to time, particularly when the chance of seeing his friends is in his favor. Supposedly, according to the sprawling guest list anyhow, all of his companions would be attending the event. He hasn't seen hide nor hair of Xero or Jirina in years. He...misses them. Yes, he misses them, enough so that he requested a brief reprieve from his duties to meet them once the ships arrive. So long as his other appointment didn't keep him too long.

Clemett had been commissioned by Griffon to do some routine maintenance as well as refit Harv with a new body. Something about the captain of the guard shouldn't be clunking around the castle in the remains of one of Hokum's Deathbots just didn't seem right. Harv has no reservations to the idea, regarding the procedure as one would consider changing their clothes. It wouldn't cause him his own particular manifestations of pain, and he would be powered down for only a few minutes, so there is nothing to be uneasy about. Well, maybe one thing...he had yet to see his new body. What if he didn't like it? What if it made him look...silly? What if he had to get rid of his straw hat?! No, that last circumstance he simply wouldn't tolerate.

Once the fitting concludes Harv is given leave to wait for the Gadgeteers' arrival. Already in the early afternoon he could see the dark pinprick of Eyre's silhouette in the sky, perhaps another hour and the flying city would be docking. As large as the flying city is, the ground doesn't shudder when it touches down and docks. He continues to wait, not moving from his spot even as a massive door slides upward to allow a trio of Gadgeteers to disembark. Harv greets them all in turn, though only one is familiar, and escorts them into and through the palace.

"The smithy has offered his shop, if that would be satisfactory to you."

"Oh sure, bot, that should be fine." Clemett nods. "Have you seen the new you yet?"

"I have not."

He nods again. "Any one else here?"

"No. Though I would imagine the admiral won't be much longer. The Wyldernians won't arrive until after dark; the queen thought the arrangement more considerate to their subterranean preferences."

"Quick thinkin'."

"Indeed." Harv adjusts his hat. "If it is possible, I would like to meet them when they arrive. Could I ask that of you?"

"I can certainly try, but don't expect me to risk a shoddy job over it."

"Of course not. I have total confidence in you."

"Aw, thanks."

The idle chit-chat continues even after the four of them settle into the smithy's now empty shop, giving the Gadgeteers all the space they needed to work. They sit Harv on a stool and start looking over him, making note of any repairs that would need to be done before beginning the refitting. From here Harv can see the parts of his new body: a collection of pieces of Metabolinian royal armor, some of it having been gently -albeit crudely- modified. Although he liked the griffin motif on the bronze breastplate. Terribly fancy.

"Alright, haystack, we have to start taking some pieces off. You need to power down or are you okay with that?"

"I am fine. Do what you must."

Without a flinch or wayward glance Harv sits through them beginning to disassemble him. All of his joints are parted one by one, the foot from the ankle from the lower leg from the knee. If he could express his feelings on his face, it would show all the neutrality of someone folding their laundry. One would imagine that having your limbs taken apart in front of you would at least raise an eyebrow.

"We'll have to replace some of these ball joints...might take an hour or two longer."

"So be it."

"My boys and I are going to move you to the table over there, okay?"

"Very well. Mind my hat."

Under the cowl, Clemett smiles. "I'll watch it like my own podling."

"That is actually...comforting. Thank you."

"You bet."

Harv listens to them working as he lies there, staring at the ceiling. Steel grinding steel, the flash of sparks casting red flickers above him. Clemett asks if he is all right every now and then, receiving the same answer of _fine_ every time. He starts to twiddle his thumbs while they're still attached, only mildly entertaining himself. When they are removed he simply lays there, mimicking a shrug.

"It's time to power you down." Clemett leans over him, sure he's got the robot's attention.

"All right."

"Sweet dreams, haystack."

"But I don't-," the lights go out behind the glass visor before he can finish.

The harvester comes back again to see the world in much the same manner her had before. He looks up into the goggled, covered faces of the Gadgeteers and the halo of light above them.

"You with us?"

"I am."

"You know who I am?"

"I do, Clemett."

"Good. Why don't you try movin' around a little?"

His joints don't whistle and whine as he sits up, feeling the phantom connection of all his parts as they begin moving again. There is an unusual sound ringing through his new bronze shell, it's soft but noticeable. Pieces of leather cover the joints of his knees and elbow, his new boots made of the same material that gives as his feet bend within. All that remains of his previous body is the glass of the visor, now sitting in the lower half of a bronze helm.

"My hat, please." he asks, once he's ready to stand.

"Of course." Clemett hands it over with a tip of his chin. "Everything feel good?"

"As good as they can, I would imagine. I am grateful for the service."

"My pleasure." he steps back, giving the harvester room to move, crossing his arms as he nods in approval. "Yeah, I think this'll look real nice at the shin-dig tomorrow."

"I'm inclined to agree." if Harv were able to smile, he thought now would be an opportune time to do so. "Again you have my thanks."

"And -again- I was happy to do it. Always a treat to work on a relic such as yourself."

The glowing pupils behind the visor flux. "...Are you saying I'm old?"

He laughs. "Only a little. Now I didn't forget that you wanted to catch the good captain when his ship comes in, and I think I heard the harbor bells not too long ago."

"Oh? Is there nothing I can do to help here?"

"Nah, me and the boys got it under control. I'll catch up with you later."

"Very well. Later then."

It's nearly evening now as the Sea Hawk eases to the dock, crew members casting out their tethers and dropping the anchor. The gangplank soon drops and passengers, from the council members of Karillon to the Magi and their escorts, begin disembarking. Harv arrives just in time to see the last of them starting along to pier towards the palace, feeling a quiet sort of relief at not having been _too_ late. He waits, watching, feeling a strange warmth in his chest as someone at the back of the throng of people waves at him. He recognizes Windleaf after a moment and returns the gesture. Harv waits for all the others to pass by, received by castle staff to be lodged for the night, before moving from his spot to offer as warm a greeting as he's able to his friends.

Windleaf hugs him after a brief, surprised comment about his new body. Though he has no sensation for touch as humans do, Harv appreciates the affection. Always has.

"It's good to see you well, Windleaf. I apologize for not making a greater effort to see you sooner."

"Think nothing of it." she shakes her head, still smiling. "I know how popular you are around here."

"Well..."

"It's just a joke." she laughs, sensing she embarrassed him a little. "Are any of the others here yet?"

"Just the Gadgeteers, but the other ship is due any hour now." Harv adjusts his hat. "Until then, I would be happy to escort you to your lodgings for the night."

"That's not necessary, Wind and I are staying on the ship for the night." Stinger put his hand on Harv's shoulder, a dull chime ringing through his new frame. "But we wouldn't mind keeping you company for a spell, would we?" his dark eyes slide to the woman beside him.

"Not at all. There's so much catching up to do."

The moon is rising and the sky over Metaboline is brimming with stars when another ship comes into the harbor. A contingent of the Metaboline guard wait on the dock with several lanterns to escort the visiting Wyldernian dignitaries once they disembark. They rank and file together by kind, beginning with the Toparri of which there are only three including Jakir. Five Banori follow after, two before and after their newly ascended king Drem, Dashau's middle son. He has the same silvery complexion as his father, but his features are decidedly softer due to his youth. Four Devorians come after, the hooves of Ura, her mother, and her husband shaking the gangplank. The fourth is a weeks old calf strapped to Ura's chest. Lastly, the Empress is escorted by her fellow Org-Ta warriors, her court mage included with a woven tabard belted around her waist.

Though it is so late in the evening now, dinner is waiting, freshly prepared to satisfy all of the guests. An incredible, carved wooden table fills the heart of the chamber with its diameter, bronze and purple dinning ware laid to accommodate each seat. There is no particular arrangement to the places, save for the three reserved chairs that are in line with the griffin motif's head meant for the royal family. Queen Estrella offers a few words of welcome and gratitude before all in attendance thought it appropriate to sit down. The servants then hurry to their work of pouring wine and filling plates.

In the beginning there is little to no conversation, but what can one expect in a room full of strangers. Those who are familiar speak in tucked chins and whispers to one another, warily looking across the table from time to time. The only ones that appear to be in any measure of good company are those mismatched few sitting across from the queen: Clemett on one end forming the seam between them and the Magi, and to his left respectively are Xero, Mezzick, Jirina, Ria unconsciously acting as a buffer between the Empress and the other humans, and Harv standing in the space between Stinger and Windleaf's seats. It was the first time they had been together in the same space in more than five years...in its own way it is satisfying. There's a quiet, communal happiness between them. Even Jirina appears strangely comfortable, mind you she never looks at the former Archmage whenever she speaks or addresses her directly by any means. It's for the better, to be sure.

Their ease of conversation seems to spread, giving the other visitors the courage to reach out. What was a rigid, static encounter slowly became something more like a social gathering. It will be hours after midnight before word of retiring for the night starts circulating. Each party will excuse themselves in turn, one by one, until the dinning hall is quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"Ready to head back to the Hawk?" Stinger puts an easy arm around Windleaf's waist, a suggestive lilt in his voice.

Her steps pause briefly, then she exhales. "Go ahead. I'll catch up."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

He lingers a moment, seeming unsure with a light knit to his features. But then he nods, relenting. "I'll wait up for you."

She smiles, their fingers lingering together until he pulls too far away. She watches him leave, feeling a knot settle in the pit of her stomach. Windleaf recollects her courage with a quick breath as she turns on her heel, calling gently after Harv.

Stinger takes the not too long walk back to his ship with no real hurry. He feels a little unsteady on his feet, having drank too much. He can't see the redness in his face but he feels it. He mentally blames Clemett though they had sat half a table away from each other, the Gadgeteer just made him want to drink somehow. More so, made him want to out drink him. Call it a weakness.

Most of the crew is asleep now, the night watchman quietly greeting Stinger as he comes aboard. Sleep actually sounds like a wonderful idea, he thinks as he comes closer to his cabin door. Maybe not right away, though. Not until the vacant side of his bed was warm again and his and Windleaf's clothes were strewn carelessly about the floor. He grins to himself, hooking a corner of his lip between his teeth at the sudden urge to kiss that incredible Fanoman woman he loved so dearly.

He bothers to light a lamp in the cabin, giving him enough of an amber glow to see by. He shrugs out of his coat, pulling his shirt over his head as he rounds his desk. He kneels down, pushing the creases out of the pile of a dozen blankets arranged there. Windleaf refused to try and squeeze into his hammock with him, and he wasn't about to sleep with her in the same room and not in the same bed, so they compromised to this makeshift bed on the floor. He makes it up as best he can, putting their pillows in their proper places and mostly lining up the top blanket the way she likes it. She can be _so_ particular. With the bed mostly right he sees fit to kick off his boots, tossing them into a corner. Now he waits, ankles crossed and fingers laced together in his lap.

Stinger knows something is wrong the second she comes through the cabin door. He senses a shift in the energy around him, something he was convinced he wasn't sensitive to, not like this. Even the way Windleaf locks the door doesn't sound right. It's slow, methodical, step by step as the bolt settles into place. And when she greets him, apologizing for the wait, she smiles without meeting his gaze. That was something she rarely _ever_ did, so rare that he could only imagine what could have been going through her mind. He can't help but watch her as she moves about the cabin, slowly stripping, seeming to intentionally do so with only half of her typical focus. She's a million miles away, her mind is anyway.

Her putting out the lamp and crawling into bed does nothing to ease the discomfort he can feel in his skin at her close proximity. Something just _isn't right_.

"Everything okay?" he asks, toned hushed in the darkness. He's still sitting up, though now he faces her, unknowing that she's turned away from him.

"Fine. Just," her breath hangs in her chest a moment, "I'm sorry...I just...I don't feel up to..."

"No, it's okay," he interrupts, feeling as if she was hoping he would, "I think I had too much to drink anyway."

"The wine was good though, I can hardly blame you." the laugh she releases at the end sounds forced. Fake.

Stinger is quiet, thinking. Trying to put a name to this awful feeling coursing through him.

Windleaf shifts beneath the blanket, body curling inward, fingers steadily hooking tighter into her pillow. She needed to say something. He had a right to know, to hear what the echoes in her head were saying. She shudders at the sounds behind her, the little brushes of skin and cloth as Stinger stretches behind her. She can feel his breath on her bare back.

"What's going on, Wind?" he finally asks, swallowing hard just as the words leave his mouth. "What happened...you get into it with someone? Was it Jirina?" _Oh Keerg, please, anyone but her..._

"N-no, it was nothing like that." though she shudders a little, quietly grateful the she-Org hadn't been involved.

"Then what?"

For a moment she can't speak, eyes searching beneath screwed tight lids. She thinks back, looking for the right place to start her explanation.

Windleaf had stayed behind for a short while in hopes of speaking to Queen Estrella. If anyone had an answer to the question that had been burning the back of her mind for weeks now, it would be her. Magekin had a penchant for that, having information no one else could gain access to. Her thoughts linger on her nerves at the time, how she hid one hand behind the other nervously when the queen had addressed the ring on her finger -something Windleaf had never worn before.

 _"I'm hardly surprised...the admiral speaks very highly of you._ " Neither surprised nor obviously pleased. But what could Windleaf expect? Why should anyone be happy for _her_?

She winces at the heavy, heated weight of his hand curling over her shoulder. Her words emerge unsteadily, in parts and pieces as her courage waxes and wanes. It comes together eventually.

"So what did you ask her?"

"It's stupid."

"Don't give me that." he scoffs. "What's this about?"

Finally, she swallows. "I thought I was pregnant."

His heart hitches in his chest, albeit briefly. He supposed that was something to get worked up about, especially since they had been going at it like a couple of porterkatts in Autumn. Not that the idea upset him, it's just a lot to take in so suddenly.

"Y-you...thought?"

"Yeah. But I'm not." she exhales slowly, trying to keep her composure. "And Estrella said I never would be."

"Wait, what? Why not?"

Now that she has had time to process it all, it makes sense. Windleaf can't remember the last time she experienced the full range of her cycle. Not since before the Darg touched her. And that's how Estrella explained the matter; the Darg abhors everything about life and the living, particularly their ability to propagate.

"I'm sorry." she forces out. The tears are coming. "I'm so sorry."

Keerg's sake, what is he supposed to say? His mind buzzes with questions and expletives that he won't let emerge from his open mouth, knowing it would just make things worse. The first restrained sob of hers that cuts the quiet makes his entire body tense, his first reaction is to close the space between them as quickly as he's able. He has to be close, he knows she needs to feel that he's there, that she isn't alone. Stinger feels her body shaking in his grasp, tiny shudders in her chest that work through him as well. Stinger tucks against her, forehead to her shoulder and his arms curling tighter, holding her to him like a second skin.

"I deserve it." she forces out, voice muffled by her hand attempting to cover her mouth, "I _know_ I deserve it but,"

"It still hurts." he interrupts. "It hurts a helluva lot and it's going to for a long time. It might never get better. I'd give anything -and I mean _anything_ \- to take that pain away, Wind. You know I would...but I can't. And what I _can do_ isn't all that much."

Windleaf takes a deep breath, trying to get her composure back. She twists in his grip, testing at first until his arms loosen, then she shifts around to face him. Her fingers find the bristle of his beard in the dark, her hand eventually framing his face.

"All I can do is love you as hard as I'm able...try and make you happy. Though...I'll admit...I'm scared that might not be enough."

Revealing his vulnerability helps her focus, another deep breath moving through her. It was a knee-jerk reaction, having always had a natural instinct to act as the stable foundation. It stems from an almost compulsory desire to have control over _something_ whenever possible, even if it's just herself.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"But I know how much...how you wanted a family." They had _both_ wanted a family some day. They had even talked about it in the quiet of their nights together, in bed or walking together on deck beneath the moon and stars with the sea all around them. They shared visions of them -having decided two would be plenty- agreeing they would both be dark skinned and raven haired like her, and as big a pair of trouble makers as he is. But that was gone now. That was _never_ going to happen.

"I still do...we still might...just not the way we planned. Strange how life works sometimes. I mean...if that's something you could consider."

She doesn't respond quickly. The silence between them stretches far enough to worry him.

"I need some time." she exhales. She needed to give all of this a chance to sink in, to process. In time she tucks close to him, his chin resting atop her head as she pushes her forehead to his collar bone. She finds some comfort in his calloused fingers stroking the furrow of her spine. Windleaf tries to stay focused on his voice as he whispers, reassuring her, instead of on the wrenching pain in the middle of her chest trying to swamp her. It succeeds for a short while, forcing her to hide her face against his chest as she starts crying again. Stinger holds on until it passes. Neither will sleep soundly tonight.

()

"What color is this?"

Jirina turns away from the open archway to the balcony, arms still crossed over her chest as she focuses on Ria. The human holds a stretch of silk between her hands. "It's sable and gold."

"Ah. Thank you, majesty."

She nods, as if the court mage could see it. "Is there really a need to be so formal?"

"It's a wedding," Ria giggles, laying the garment down, hands moving over the bedside where she had several pieces of clothing laid out. "It's important."

"But all this finery for but a few hours of...whatever?" she just couldn't find the proper word. "Hardly seems practical."

"Who said weddings needed to be practical? A wedding, a celebration of one of the most impractical things in the world?"

Jirina almost counters, mouth opening slightly, but she pulls back. That's a fair enough explanation she supposed.

"Have you ever attended one, majesty?"

"Hm? No...not that I can recall." not in a capacity other than Empress, which had a tendency to separate one from the intimacy of such an event. Then again, the Wyldernian tradition of marriage wasn't quite the same as it was on Arkose.

"Did you never imagine it as a child? What it would be like?"

"No." a firm, final response.

Ria must have felt a shift in the energy in the room, her little smile and amusement falling flat. "Apologies, majesty..."

"None necessary."

Ria shifts on her feet a moment, then holds up another garment. "Is this the same color?"

"It's red."

"Oh...well...do you think it would match well?"

"I am indifferent. I only wish that you be dressed."

"You're no help." she shrugs. "No one needs to be able to tell I'm blind by the way I dress." Then she turns on her feet towards a sound she's just able to hear. "What do you think, Mezzick?"

It's the first time the young Org has moved since he settled into his usual place near the door. It's a habitual space for him to inhabit that branches from a sort of quiet paranoia mixed with a diligence to his duty to protect the empress. His chin tips upward, focusing on Ria through the dark glass of his visor.

"I like the black and gold." he says after a moment with a slow, contemplative nod. "It looks more...impressive."

A little laugh. "Impressive? My, that _is_ a compliment. Do you agree, your majesty?"

For a moment she said nothing, certain she had already voiced her relatively nonexistent opinion. Then she catches Mezzick's expectant look, a particular lilt of his head in silent demand that she say _something_. She responds with an equally quiet hitch of her shoulders only to receive a quick retort with his hand. Several seconds of this before she finally clears her throat.

"I, uh...suppose he has a point." the rhythm of the words are awkward. "And if you're of the mind to care what others think...well...you know."

Ria smiles, appreciating the effort. "Thank you, majesty." Black and gold it is. She begins to wrap the fabric around her in her usual way, only pausing a moment. "Sir Von Moon isn't here, is he?"

"You can't tell?"

"Normally I could, but he's been so quiet as of late..." her features are a mixture of concern and confusion. "Any idea why that is?"

Somehow Jirina senses that the words are directed at her, and that Ria knows the answer to her question. It almost feels _accusatory_. "I'm sure he's all right. Just in one of his moods." Though she would admit under the right scrutiny that his "moods" had never consisted of the two of them refusing to speak to each other outside of an official capacity for nearly a month. Xero could barely stand to meet her gaze much less hold a conversation. "Perhaps I'll speak to him about it."

"You _should_."

By Organ's grace how Jirina _wished_ Ria could see her face. Was she being scolded by her own court mage?! Even Mezzick shifted on his feet, his head turned away. It looked like he was about laugh, making Jirina's expression stretch that much further into disbelief. Of course he straightens up the second he realizes she's looking at him.

After a moment she clears her throat again. "In good time. Now let's hurry, lest they start without us."

As extravagant as a Metabolinian wedding was meant to be perceived, many of the Wyldernians simply weren't impressed. No offense intended, they thought their own traditions much more interesting. Had they the opportunity, the Banori would have been bragging about their public mating rituals, or the Devorians in regards to their similar customs of nude wrestling. The Orgs of both kinds, along with their Dendrokin cousins, found the ceremony reminiscent of their own, though far more subdued. They were almost painfully aware of the heavy quiet throughout the room as Estrella recited some ages old monologue that had been used from the first royal wedding to today; Orgish weddings had never gone without singing. Gray Orgs especially feel a deep affinity for the vibrations of scores if not hundreds of conjoined voices raised in celebration of love and unity. By comparison this is almost...somber. The reception garners a similar reaction, though they try their best to show their happiness for the new couple after a few rounds of drinks.

Jirina finds large social events consistently tiring. Even if she enjoys them, their conclusions tended to leave her with a distinct urge to nap, or at the very least sequester herself to some peace and quiet. This was proving to be no different, especially since she is constantly bombarded with greetings and tidbit conversations from strangers and neighbors alike. The only interaction she could stomach giving her full attention to is that with the now abdicated Estrella, who discusses the possibilities of future trade agreements between their kingdoms in no certain terms. Jirina shows passing interest, not wishing to come off as rude, but neglects to mention that it wouldn't be up to her. Soon enough the council will have to bother themselves with such things. In any case, she would pass the information on.

"Majesty?"

Jirina's head snaps to the side in correlation with something she just feels at her wrist.

"Could I steal you away for a spell?"

"Was that a pun?" Jirina grimaces to hide a fledgling grin that tries to twist the corner of her mouth.

Ria laughs. "I certainly hope so. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all." Estrella concedes. "...Is this your court mage that I've heard so much about?"

"Heard from who, exactly?" a brow raises beneath the she-Org's visor.

"Archmage Anari speaks _very_ highly of her, as does her predecessor. You know Windleaf, don't you, empress?"

"I do."

"And if the state of your kingdom -from what I hear- is any indication, her time in your employ has served you quite well."

"Indeed, it has. Thank you. Now if you'll excuse us." with a nod of goodbye Jirina starts to step away, tucking her arm to be sure Ria follows.

"Don't know if I will ever grow accustomed to that."

"To what?"

"The praise." Ria blushes. "I'm almost unsure how deserving I actually am." An easy doubt for her to harbor, having grown up surrounded by people more worried over her handicap than praising her accomplishments.

"Deserving enough." Jirina nods. "You've done fine work for me, certainly more than anyone likely expected of you...for obvious reasons."

"Of course."

"So did you need something? Or did you sense my need to be rescued?"

"Ah, so _that's_ what that was." a strange static she could just feel from across the ballroom. She laughs a little. "Well, not just that."

"Then what?"

"Have you seen the Premier?"

Jirina is quiet for a moment, thinking. "Not since the reception began. Should I have?"

"Not necessarily. Mezzick saw him leave the ballroom shortly after the ceremony ended."

"I see. And I need to know this...why?"

"You should talk to Xero, majesty." Ria tucks her chin a little. "If I may be so bold to say."

" _Now_ you excuse yourself?" a little laugh, amusement genuine. This tiny human had more courage than she would ever realize. "But I hear you, Taj'hal, I hear you very well. Would you be able to find him?"

"I could feel him out, yes, majesty."

"Then would you be so kind as to escort me?"

"My pleasure."

Xero Von Moon would never admit to hiding from anyone or anything. He always writes it off as _not wishing to be seen_. The difference is in the eye of the beholder, of course. So to speak. In any case, Xero wasn't hiding, just not wishing to be seen as he occupied a lone corridor with his hands tucked behind him in the usual manner. He keeps his eyes fixed on something beyond the glass panes, perhaps on the darkening horizon. His snowy brows flinch when he hears footsteps disturb the once resounding quiet. He knows those steps as well as his own, their particular heaviness, and the little ones that fall twice as often to keep up. He swallows gently with a steady inhale through his nose, shifting to face whatever is coming as a man should.

"You'll have to excuse my absence, majesty." he begins. "I'm afraid I haven't much the mind for socializing."

"That's quite all right." Jirina nods, gently pushing Ria's hand from her wrist before taking a another step. "May we speak?"

"By your leave, majesty."

"As friends?" she adds. "At least...I would hope that we still could."

"Of course we can."

"Then...I would apologize."

His brow knits. "I will not accept it."

Jirina feels a charge of anxiety work through her. "No?"

"No. Because you don't need to offer it. If anyone is at fault, it's me." he pauses long enough to shrug. "I had thoroughly humiliated myself and you by assuming I knew what you needed. I thought I knew what was best and tried to force that on you. You had every right to be angry."

"But that doesn't excuse how I put my hands on you that day. You deserve better than that from me."

"Mayhaps, but the same could be said of me. As much as I would like to think you and I are alike...I forget how many worlds apart we actually are. What brings me solace...it simply cannot be the same for you."

"True enough."

Xero turns to face the window again, one hand pushing over the top of his head before returning to its place behind him. "In my old age...forgiveness sets me free. It gives me leave to stop fretting. But you...it doesn't have the same meaning for you. No two things we have experienced together share a definition between us, do they?"

"I would imagine not...for the most part."

"Yet I had the nerve to believe just that." his chin drops, eyes closing for a moment. "You have endured...unspeakable pain...in body and spirit throughout your life. I can only imagine how many times your heart has been broken."

Her breath hitches, a slight burning coming to her eyes.

"Some of that heartbreak...perhaps even the worst of it...came from someone you saw as your comrade. Your ally. Now that I know what she did to you," he shakes his head, violet eyes widening in a quiet mixture of amazement and disgust, "even _I_ feel anger towards her."

Jirina feels her heart clench, one tear working free of the corner of her eye. She starts towards him again, taking three large steps to stand behind him. She pulls the visor from her face, blinking at the almost too bright light until her vision clears.

"You have trusted me with your life countless times...called me friend. I dare say we're almost family. Then I go an act like such a _fool_ , as if none of that mattered. All I was concerned with at that moment was potentially stopping you from being so damn _surly_. Instead of recognizing your feelings, I tried to dictate to you what they should be." he turns his head, looking at her, initially startled by the sight of her uncovered face.

Jirina needed him to _see_ that she wasn't angry with him, that it had never been the case. Naturally she had been angry, furious even, but not at him. She couldn't hold it against him that there are simply some things about her that he will never fully comprehend. And if she was going to forgive whatever it was that he felt guilty for, he needed to be able to do more than just assume how she felt.

"None of that has changed, old man. You're still my brother." she tries to smile, for his sake.

"Though I've made such a mess of it."

"Hardly what I would call a mess." she smirks at the way his mustache puckers. "Xero...I still trust you. In my weakest hour, you have been the only one I could stand to see me in such a state. And you _cared for me_ , even when I would have rather died than keep fighting. That formed a bond that will not break...no matter how much of a fool you try to make out of yourself."

Xero's gaze is fixed on her features all the while, catching all the nuances and stray movements that he has never before had a chance to really appreciate. It brings a strange sense of humanity to her manner, an authenticity to her words that he had never noticed. It makes his heart wrench, that is the artificial and magical cell that inhabits his synthetic body.

"I'm trying to say that I forgive you, you old sod."

Finally he feels the anxiety shake from his shoulders, letting him feel light again. "So it would appear. You're far too gracious, majesty."

"So I've heard." A small laugh. "Almost can't wait to abdicate so I can get away from you and get back to being a bully."

"So you stopped?" one snowy brow arches.

Jirina puts her visor back in place before he can catch the lingering amusement in her eyes. "Perhaps I should have made you my court jester instead, Xero. It would have certainly been a more fitting position for your _mouth_."

"I guess we'll never know." a bemused sigh and a smirk twists his mouth. "Though I have it on good authority that my mouth is fitting no matter what position it happens to be in."

Jirina can't stop her jaw from dropping, and over her shoulder comes the unmistakeable sound of muffled laughter from Ria. After accepting the reality of the Mage Warrior having made such a lewd joke -likely the first of its kind- Jirina finds it in her to release a laugh that had perched itself in her stomach. Something genuine.

"Orgran's grace." she shakes her head, still partially unable to believe what he said or how he so confidently stood there with the most smug look on his face. "Well, if you're done sulking, old man, I would have you come back with us to the ballroom. Drink with me, I'm of the mind to embarrass you."

"If it pleases her majesty." and he laughs to himself for the length of the corridor.

In the months to follow there will be more talk of alliances between the kingdoms, but nothing will come to fruition before the Empress of Wyldern steps down from her throne. It will be a day of celebration and trepidation; the country is now subject to the council, more easily swayed by the will of the people, but is Wyldern ready? Are the people strong enough to live without the empress? Jirina certainly thought so. For her this was a great day indeed. With Xero, Mezzick, and Ria, she walks out of Tyr Og Nor to a wall of sound from countless citizens singing her praise. It's strangely comforting to know how much of a difference she was able to make.

She feels a great weight roll from her shoulders once she passes through Cyl Og Sul's gates.

"So where will you go now?" Mezzick asks. "What will you do?"

Jirina takes a breath and exhales "Home. And I suppose I'll do...as I please." it almost didn't feel right saying such a thing. "Perhaps I'll...start sleeping in."

"Hah!" the sound ejects from Xero with an incredulous upturn to his mouth. "And I'll take up embroidery."

"Then make me something pretty, old man." she laughs. "I'm partial to pink."

"You _lie_."

"What of me?" the younger Org looked to her, worry working his features beneath his visor.

"Look at you," Jirina gestures with her hand, "you're a man now. You're as free as I to do _anything_. Surely there is something you've always wanted to do other be my shadow."

His mouth opens, perhaps to protest, but now words form. He doubles back and merely nods.

"Although if you are in need of one last task from me, I would have you see these two to the surface."

"Very well."

"Trying to get rid of me that quickly?" Xero crosses his arms.

"Hardly. I've been stuck with you for years, I need a reprieve from your mothering." a little laugh as she steps towards him. Her big arms circle him and cinch tight. "Though I am grateful for it. I'll miss you."

"As will I, but I'll not be too much of a stranger. So try to keep yourself out of trouble until I come around again."

"I promise nothing." Still smiling she lets him go, taking a half step back. "And what about you, Miss Taj'hal?"

"Just Ria, please. I'm going to go back to the academy to finish my studies. From there...who knows. Maybe I'll travel."

"Sounds exciting. You have my best wishes."

The human girl shifts on her feet, seeming a little anxious. "Could...if I should come back...would I be welcome here?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you would. Pay's Hom -and my home- will always be open to you."

Ria smiles in a rare way, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she holds out her arms, expecting. Jirina indulges her one last time, bending down just enough to let her arms circle her neck in an embrace. "It's been an honor." she says quietly, hoping she sounds sincere enough.

"Thank you." Ria's voice is tight, uneven. "Thank you for believing in me."

Jirina feels her tuck against her neck, or at least it felt like her neck, and then she tensed at a sudden small contact to her cheek she didn't expect. Before she could even register what it was and say a word in its regard, Ria had released her hold only to latch onto Xero's arm. They said their goodbyes and Jirina watched them go, headed towards Big Mesa. Just a moment passes until Jirina comes back to her senses, turning to begin walking in the other direction, towards home. She shakes her head a little with an uncertain smirk, her hand at her cheek to cover the lingering warmth of the kiss the human had put there.

Author's Note: Well, there it is. Done. I'm working on a follow up, because I'm not done telling Jirina's story. But it needs its own thing, you know? Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and if so, please let me know.


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